On the road for a couple of days, darlings, at a talk shop in the big city (just up the road from the sleepier capital, but light years away in so many ways; where we are, conveyor belt sushi is just a fever dream from the future, although at last we have a decent deli. Count your blessings, I suppose).
For reasons unknown, the hotel hospitality gods have deposited me in a suite the size of my first three apartments combined, and as it's early morning here, I'm off to hunt up the shower in the bathing complex. It must be there somewhere; I'd be better prepared, but having just found the kitchen, I also found myself totally defeated by the futuristic intergalactic coffee maker. It involves little coffeeische capsules and a great deal of steaming water, but no clear indication of how to actually create coffee out of the two.
Presuming the shower is more tractable, I should at least be rewarded for the effort of talking endlessly about synergy and emerging creative strategies with people I never hope to see again by that staple of conferences everywhere, coffee delivered from traditional urns and accompanied by those slightly squashed little fruit danish that seem so inevitable at any business confab involving more than 25 people. Wish me luck.