Paul and Mike met in the little town's only hotel. It was night, and it was raining.

"What a place," said Paul.

"Dead," said Mike.

Paul looked sleepily into the fire. "Can't we go anywhere?"

"Where? The shops are all shut. And so is everything else."

"Let's find some more people."

"No one else is staying here."

"So let's try another hotel."

"There are no other hotels."

Paul said, "I can't read this same paper again and again. There's nothing in it - well, nothing
interesting."

Mike said, "They put anything in newspapers these days. Anything."

"Well, not just anything. Some things are too bad even for a small-town paper like this."

Mike thought about it. After a time, he said, "No. This kind of paper would take anything at all."

"Now that's just not true," Paul said..

Mike sat up in his armchair. "All right," he said. "Tell me something that would be too bad for them.
Think of a line any line that they wouldn't take." -

Paul was quiet, then he said, "I taxied through the flower fields the dear sun never shone. Can you
think of anything as bad as that?"

Mike answered, "Unhappy day, unhappy day, my horse is dead and gone."

Paul said, "You think they would take that kind of thing?"

"Oh yes. No trouble at all with your taxis and flowers."*

Paul said, "OK. You say you can get that into the paper. I say you can't. Let's see who's right."

Mike laughed again. "All right. I'll send your line myself."

The letter in the paper said, "Dear Sir: I am trying to find the name of a piece of writing. The first line is
I taxied through the flower fields - the dear sun never shone. Can any of your readers help?"

"Very good," said Paul. "But that's only my line. What about yours?"

"Buy a paper tomorrow," said Mike.

Next day, there was another letter in the paper. "Dear Sir: The writer of the line about taxis and
flowers is Paul Hunt. The piece is "Dead Hotel". And the next line is Unhappy day, unhappy day, my
horse is dead and gone."