my 1st breakfast, Tuesday morning upon arrival at The Marks Hotel

My taxi driver was a dear-guy. Told me about he and his wife, their trips to Florida at christmas & new year holiday, skiing early February in Boulder Colorado, the last time he was in Las Vegas. Their best friends, he says, are a couple in the states; they are very fond of them. He made me laugh. He asked about Portland and said he will come there soon. He gave me his card, put his cell number on it and said to call him for taxi, or if I found myself in trouble or in need of help. He felt solid and dependable, just what I needed at these beginning moments when I had no idea where I was or where I was going. Did you send him to taxi me? 

 I arrived too early in the morning to get into my room. I could have laid down on the floor right there and slept. They ushered me into the dining room because breakfast was being served. Eat now, they said, and we'll get your room ready. Scrambled eggs (in water perhaps?), beans in a reddish sauce, huge roasted whole mushrooms, stewed tomatoes, sausages, haggis? no, black pudding I found out later, cereal, orange juice, yogurts, cut up fruit.  I tried everything. Coffee? White or Black?  I said white, and received a cappuccino.

All that was missing was you.