## This Isn't a Hotel, It's a Horror Movie: A Review of My Night at the Hotel Dasaprakash
If you're looking for a luxurious weekend getaway, a romantic rendezvous, or even just a clean place to lay your head after a long flight, steer clear of the Depravity Inn – because it's more akin to a haunted house inhabited by nightmares and regret.
Let's start with the "room," if you can call it that. Imagine a dimly lit dungeon cell, only less charming and infinitely smellier. The air hung heavy with the combined aroma of damp despair and questionable bodily fluids. "Ready" is a generous descriptor for its state; more like "lightly looted by scavengers in the post-apocalypse." The bed resembled a lumpy battlefield for dust bunnies, while the "windows" (glorified cardboard flaps) offered a stunning view of the alleyway where I witnessed a suspicious transaction involving what I *hope* was just a raccoon and a discarded pizza box.
But the real pièce de résistance was the bathroom. Imagine opening the door to Dante's Ninth Circle, only with worse plumbing. Stepping inside was like entering a biohazard zone – I literally had to hold my breath to avoid inhaling the potent bouquet of mold, sewage, and what suspiciously sounded like someone's breakfast regurgitated from the depths of hell. To say there was no water would be an insult to puddles; the shower offered only the occasional ghost-like spritz of something vaguely brown.