A Perfect Ten

As we walked through the corridors of the grand old hotel the realtor spoke of how it would be perfect for apartments, six large or ten small. It would cost ten times the asking price to renovate the sagging beauty. As I looked in each of the faded bedrooms, I pictured the babies I could have, or adopt, ten times two would have fit. But it have to located ten yards farther off the road. Looking out the kitchen windows onto the lake, I pictured the restaurant I would start there, if I could fit in ten more parking spaces. The thought of the neglected building housing the handicap ten years prior broke my hear ten times over. Insurance on a bed and breakfast would cost ten times the norm with the docks and unmanned beach. Ten months ago I would have opened a half way house to help the freshly detoxed addicts I care for, back before the ten new grey hairs I've grown a day. Ten years ago, when I had ten times the energy, and no business plan, I would have said, "It's perfect." Instead, I only eyeballed the realtor, who was smart enough not to push me, and thought, "He's OK."