Generator Dublin Hostel Novels & Stories

Volume 2: Just Friends Wednesday. Luxe Ibiza Hostel, Cala Gració, Ibiza. JENNIFER MIRACLE WAS HAVING the worst day. Or stretch of days. She wasn't sure if the sun had set on them in the last thirty or so hours of travel.

The seventeen pounds were not for food; they were for survival’s architecture—a roof, however temporary. She found the hostel not by map, but by scent. It was in a side-street that smelled of stale beer and damp brick, a narrow building squeezed between a kebab shop and a newsagent. The sign, ‘The Traveler’s Rest’, flickered with a dying neon buzz. The man at the counter didn’t look up from his racing paper. His scent was of cigarette smoke and resigned boredom. “Three nights,” Luna said, her voice sounding too small against the hum of a distant television. She slid twelve pounds across the laminate.

I was hoping against hope that he broke his promise to me and wasn't just dead. I went to my purse on the dresser and pulled out my wallet. Everything was there. I needed the debit card that he had given me because I didn't have enough in my account to cover the expenses of the trip. We would stay at Liam's property in Dublin that Jameson had gifted him with, so the room and board was covered.