Under a Near Constant Cover of Clouds

I am in a room painted blood red and black.  The duvet cover and pillows are red, embossed with black velvet filigree.  There is a poster of Edward Cullen over my bed.  The curtains are black and when the sun hits them they...wait for it....sparkle.

Yep, we're in Forks, Washington or, as one motel sign aptly puts it, the Twilight Zone.  

Forks is a very ugly little town.  It has none of the elegance of, say, Port Gamble or Port Townsend.  It is a logging town where the logging industry has virtually died.  If it weren't for the series by Stephanie Meyer, people might still live here but no one would come on vacation.   But those little books about a human girl in love with a vampire created a whole new industry.  It has, you'll pardon the pun, become the lifeblood of this sucky little town.  

Even the locksmith tauts "Twilight" souvenirs.

Very soon we will be leaving on our 3 hour tour (a 3 hour tour) of all the major sites in the books.  (Except Italy).  I know.  You're feeling very, very jealous right about now.   

But you know what?  The Child can't stop herself from thanking me for bringing her here.  That makes every penny, every minute more than worth it.