He arrives at the newly-opened guitar-shaped hotel in Florida. His black trucker cap twisted back, black T-shirt, his eyes sore from too little sleep, his head trying to figure out his next successful track. He enters the lobby and is greeted by a young woman in a tight white shirt, with a neck tattoo sticking out of her collar. She has wavy dark hair. Maybe she’s Latina, maybe not, you never know in the States.