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one hotel room. two televisions.
I used to be a little sad inside every time I went in a hotel room that turned out to be bigger than my apartment. I live in a bigger apartment now, so that'll happen less often, but even so, I'm in a hotel room right now with nicer furniture (well; more solid, although I like my wood darker, usually, and while the upholstery on the couch is fine, I'd never choose the fabric they've got on this armchair) than mine, two flatscreen TVs, and granite fucking countertops. Even the desk chair is better than what I have in my office at work. Also, the place is insulated miles better (and the walls are miles thicker) than my apartment, but as I'm in Buffalo, New York, I should certainly hope so.
At least the carpet is ugly.
At least the carpet is ugly.

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Tonight it's a Hampton, where the mattress has springs instead of a big block of foam, the TV has a tube instead of a flat screen, and the furniture is laminate instead of hardwood with granite countertops. But the carpet, while still ugly, is not as ugly as the place last night.