Things you get when you couchsurf that you don't get in a hotel:
The rattling sound of pots and silverware in the morning. Btah-rooms with ratty, beloved mismatched towels. Leftover birthday cake. Dark hallways humid with the smell of baking. Looking at weird shit people keep in their medicine cabinets. Cats to pat, who are at first standoffish then decide they love you at four a.m., when you're finally asleep. Walls of Elvis plates. The recaptured feeling of having sleepover party. Dodgy electric blankets. A chance to try on hats. Morning coffee in wineglass for lack oh enough cups. Children of all ages and temperaments who draw pictures for you. The ability to make your own toast. Record players. Wet grass in the backyard sunrise, where the chickens are roosting. Out-of-tune pianos and other strange instruments to fondle. Candle stuck to mantelpieces. The beautiful vision of strangers in their pajamas. Weird teas from around the world. Pinball machines. Pet spiders. Latches that don't quite work. Glow-in-the-dark things on the ceiling.
Late-night and early-morning stories about love, death, hardship, and heartbreak.
The collision of life. Art for the blender.
The dots connecting.
em The Art of Asking, de Amanda Palmer
