The only reason I am interested in the Beverly Hills Hotel. The only reason I took photos in front of the El Cortez in old town Las Vegas. Hotels fed his writing, as he could order more booze throughout the night as he wrote. He would abuse the concierge. They would want him to leave, but he was too good. Too famous and writing too loved to ignore him. He stayed in seedy, infamous, luxurious hotels, it didn’t matter, but the work mattered. “I had never before been so conscious of my alienation, and the hotel room was no help. It was one of those sterile places where everything is new, but it has no soul.”