East of Seaside beach awaits just the smallest corner of hell, rife with salmon-scented sheets, and just the tiniest pinch of shame. Welcome to the Mariner.
Our stay began with what one might consider to be a state of confusion. There were three rooms, each with just enough room for a bed, which was convenient because that's all they contained. Complimented by broken a.c., a broken television, broken windows, a sinkless bathroom, and clothes from the previous patrons, it could be safely said that we had found a "rent by the hour" land of leisure.
As the evening continued, a return from the beach required use of the shower. As the shower gingerly began to drissle luke warm water to the plastic tiles below, it could be seen that the shower curtain did not reach the floor. Instead, a cool breeze caught me by suprise and the curtain began flowing delicately in the wind, sending a draft my way that felt a lot like Christmas.
In the night, one is subject to the delightful noises of miscreant drug dealings, some of which go very wrong. And if that doesn't suit you, your neighbors will certainly keep you up with their delightful conversations about life, love, and Nascar statistics on the stoop next door. Most the renters live there, so stoop-talk is gauranteed.
The next morning, continental breakfast is a simple cup of black coffee. So if you're John Wayne or just seem to like the taste of chalk, you're on easy street.
Make sure to set your alarm early though, breakfast ends at 9.
My advice, gather your belongings and head elsewhere. Equivalent prices and sanitary rooms await you.