Cynthia and Dave owned a mediocre inn on the highway to nowhere. Criminals on the run, lost foreigners , cops on duty can vouch for their service better than me. Cynthia was a stubborn calculating woman and Dave was..well, a man. “There is always room at the Potterheads’ ” – this was their motto. It was the afternoon when they were bickering about chores. A man in shabby clothes walk-ran towards the reception desk and yelled above their voices asking for a room. Dave waved him off angrily while Cynthia paused, looked at him and blurted 100 pounds. The weary traveler who now revealed his name to be Joe, threw the money on the table and grabbed the keys. They resumed their yelling and got interrupted again by another guy looking for boarding for a night. This fellow was well groomed and carried a suitcase – probably on business. They attended to him and sat at the desk contended at the unraveling of the day’s events. It was almost sunset when a sullen looking cop roared in and locked himself into a room quickly. Supper was served to guests and Dave finally retired to his room after closing the kitchen. It was after midnight, when Joe began snoring loudly. The inn was naturally blessed with good acoustics and hence the noise wafted into the adjacent rooms. The cop whose slumber was broken, yelled at the cardboard of a wall. This awoke the businessman in the next room. The cop trampled onto the corridor and banged on Joe’s door. The businessman was just a step behind. They looked at each other’s faces at the same moment when Joe opened the door. Imagine their priceless faces!