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From: Marriott Hotel Booking <marriotthote35@inmortalboost.com>
Reply-To: marriotthote35@inmortalboost.com
To: bruce@untroubled.org
Subject: Your thank you gift from your latest Marriott stay
Date:  Wed, 31 Dec 2025 13:32:11 -0500
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The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the library, casting long rectangles of gold across the worn oak floor. I was supposed to be researching, but my mind kept drifting to the conversation from the night before. My friend had described a walk they took along a coastal path, the sound of the waves a constant, rhythmic companion. They spoke of the way the salt air clung to their sweater and how the gulls seemed to argue over some unseen prize. It was a simple story, but it was told with such vivid detail that I could almost feel the chill of the wind. I looked down at the open book in front of me, the words blurring into a gray block. The history of trade routes in the 18th century suddenly felt incredibly distant. I closed the book, the soft thud echoing slightly in the quiet room. Outside, a gardener was methodically trimming a hedge, the snip-snip of the shears creating a steady beat. I wondered if he ever thought about the places those clippings might have seen if they could travel. Probably not. His focus was on the line, the shape, the immediate task. There's a certain peace in that, I thought. My phone buzzed softly on the table, a calendar reminder for a meeting I had nearly forgotten. The modern world always finds a way to pull you back. I gathered my things, the leather of my bag smooth and familiar under my hand. As I walked out, I nodded to the librarian, who was meticulously sorting a cart of returns. She smiled, a quick, professional gesture. The heavy door swung shut behind me, muting the world of whispers and turning pages. The hallway was bright and empty, my footsteps the only sound. I thought about the coastal path again, deciding that perhaps this weekend I would find my own version of it, even if it was just a trail by the river. Everyone needs a place to let their thoughts settle, to hear something other than the hum of their own mind. The meeting could wait a few more minutes; I took the long way around, past the courtyard where the early blooms were just starting to show their color. A sparrow hopped along the stone edge, pecking at something invisible. It was a small moment, but it was mine.The coffee shop on the corner was always busy at this hour, a symphony of grinding beans, steaming milk, and low chatter. I found a spot near the window, the glass slightly cool against my arm. Two people at the next table were discussing a film, their hands animated as they described a particular scene. "It was the silence after the door closed," one said, "that told you everything." I sipped my drink, letting the warmth spread. A barista called out a name that wasn't mine, and someone weaved through the tables to collect their order. I opened my notebook, not to write about trade routes, but to jot down a few lines about the gardener, the sparrow, the idea of silent doors. Sometimes the research you need isn't in the books you assign yourself. It's in the way people describe a walk, or the focused snip of shears, or the quiet agreement of strangers in a crowded room. The day was unfolding, full of these tiny, unremarkable connections. I finished my coffee, the bitter aftertaste a familiar anchor. Time to join the meeting, to add my voice to the collective hum. But I felt lighter, as if I had already been on a short journey and returned, ready to listen.
MARRIOT
HOTELS  RESORTS
A Note of Appreciation for Your Recent Stay
We are providing a two-piece luxury cooling pillow set at no charge to your household. This is open to you because your travel included a stay at a Marriot or partner hotel within the past twelve months.
Program Details
• Receive a two-pillow luxury cooling set, provided at no charge.
• After a brief questionnaire, you may also claim a two-night stay at select locations, provided at no charge.
• You will not be billed for the pillows or the qualifying stay nights.
• One pillow set per household. Total allocation is 800 sets.
• This opportunity concludes tomorrow.
Participate for Your Pillows + Stay
Attributes of the Cooling Pillow Set
Designed with breathable materials that promote air circulation.
Helps maintain a comfortable temperature throughout the night.
Provides consistent support for head and neck alignment.
Crafted from high-quality, durable fabrics for extended use.
The cooling effect is integrated into the pillow's core construction.
Offers a hypoallergenic surface suitable for most sleepers.
Quantities for the pillow sets are determined by the program. Access to stay dates and locations is based on program scheduling.
We appreciate your choice to stay with Marriot. Your perspective helps us enhance the experience for all guests.
The train carriage was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. Most people were looking at their phones, but the woman across from me was reading a physical book, its spine cracked with use. She turned a page slowly, completely absorbed. I tried to guess the genre from the cover, but it was wrapped in a plain brown paper cover. A mystery, perhaps, or a romance. The train slowed for a station, and the familiar automated voice announced the stop. A few people stood, gathering bags and coats, breaking the silence with rustles and zippers. The woman with the book didn't look up. I wondered what was so compelling. Outside, the platform was a blur of movement, people flowing together and apart in a well-practiced dance. A child pointed at something, their mouth a perfect circle of wonder, but their parent was busy checking a watch. The doors beeped and closed, and we were moving again, the cityscape giving way to rows of houses with tidy gardens. The woman finally closed her book, holding her place with a finger, and gazed out the window. Her expression was thoughtful, calm. Maybe the book was about gardening, or travel, or history. It didn't matter. For those twenty minutes, she was somewhere else entirely, and her quiet contentment was a gentle presence in the carriage. I thought about the books on my own shelf at home, the ones I meant to read. The train entered a tunnel, and for a moment, we were all reflected in the dark glass, a tableau of silent travelers. Then light flooded back in, and the woman opened her book again. The man next to me sighed, scrolling through messages on his screen. I decided to look out the window too, to watch the world go by without the filter of a device. There's a story in every backyard, in every passing car, in the way the late afternoon sun hits a brick wall. The woman's stop must have been next; she carefully marked her page with a ticket stub and placed the book in her bag. She stood, smoothing her coat, and when the doors opened, she stepped out with a sure, quick step. I watched her walk down the platform, soon lost in the crowd. The empty seat where she had been felt suddenly noticeable. The journey continued, the rhythm of the tracks a constant underneath everything. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound, imagining where all my fellow passengers were headed. Home, to work, to meet someone, to be alone. Each with their own internal narrative, their own book, whether it was bound in paper or simply held in memory. It was a comforting thought, this shared solitude. My stop was approaching. I gathered my things, feeling the pleasant weight of my own unread stories waiting for me. The day was nearly done, but the evening held its own potential for quiet observation. Stepping onto the platform, I took a deep breath of the cool air, ready to join the dance.
The park bench was cold, but the sun was warm on my face. I watched a group of dogs playing, their owners standing in a loose circle, chatting. One dog, a small terrier, was endlessly chasing a larger retriever, who seemed to enjoy the game immensely. Their joy was pure and uncomplicated. A jogger passed by, headphones on, lost in their own rhythm. I sipped from my water bottle, the condensation cool on my fingers. This was the hour when the light was golden, when everything seemed softened at the edges. I thought about the conversation I had earlier with a colleague about favorite sounds. They said the sound of rain on a tin roof. I said the sound of a page turning in a quiet room. Both were sounds of comfort, of being sheltered. The terrier finally caught up, playfully nipping at the retriever's leg, and they tumbled in a happy heap. Their owners laughed. It was a simple scene, but it filled the space perfectly. I checked the time; I should start heading back. As I stood, I saw a squirrel freeze on the path, a nut clutched in its paws, before darting up a tree. The small dramas of the park continued without me. Walking away, I could still hear the distant bark of the dogs and the murmur of conversation. The city awaited, with its brighter lights and louder sounds, but for this little while, the golden hour and the playing dogs were enough. It's important to collect these moments, I thought, to store them up for the days that are less golden. They are the quiet notes that make up the melody of an ordinary life.

http://www.inmortalboost.com/huffing-ylr

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<div style="display:none;font-size:1px;color:#ffffff;line-height:1px;font-family:Arial;max-height:0px;max-width:0px;opacity:0;overflow:hidden;mso-hide:all;">The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the library, casting long rectangles of gold across the worn oak floor. I was supposed to be researching, but my mind kept drifting to the conversation from the night before. My friend had described a walk they took along a coastal path, the sound of the waves a constant, rhythmic companion. They spoke of the way the salt air clung to their sweater and how the gulls seemed to argue over some unseen prize. It was a simple story, but it was told with such vivid detail that I could almost feel the chill of the wind. I looked down at the open book in front of me, the words blurring into a gray block. The history of trade routes in the 18th century suddenly felt incredibly distant. I closed the book, the soft thud echoing slightly in the quiet room. Outside, a gardener was methodically trimming a hedge, the snip-snip of the shears creating a steady beat. I wondered if he ever thought about the places those clippings might have seen if they could travel. Probably not. His focus was on the line, the shape, the immediate task. There's a certain peace in that, I thought. My phone buzzed softly on the table, a calendar reminder for a meeting I had nearly forgotten. The modern world always finds a way to pull you back. I gathered my things, the leather of my bag smooth and familiar under my hand. As I walked out, I nodded to the librarian, who was meticulously sorting a cart of returns. She smiled, a quick, professional gesture. The heavy door swung shut behind me, muting the world of whispers and turning pages. The hallway was bright and empty, my footsteps the only sound. I thought about the coastal path again, deciding that perhaps this weekend I would find my own version of it, even if it was just a trail by the river. Everyone needs a place to let their thoughts settle, to hear something other than the hum of their own mind. The meeting could wait a few more minutes; I took the long way around, past the courtyard where the early blooms were just starting to show their color. A sparrow hopped along the stone edge, pecking at something invisible. It was a small moment, but it was mine.<br><br>The coffee shop on the corner was always busy at this hour, a symphony of grinding beans, steaming milk, and low chatter. I found a spot near the window, the glass slightly cool against my arm. Two people at the next table were discussing a film, their hands animated as they described a particular scene. "It was the silence after the door closed," one said, "that told you everything." I sipped my drink, letting the warmth spread. A barista called out a name that wasn't mine, and someone weaved through the tables to collect their order. I opened my notebook, not to write about trade routes, but to jot down a few lines about the gardener, the sparrow, the idea of silent doors. Sometimes the research you need isn't in the books you assign yourself. It's in the way people describe a walk, or the focused snip of shears, or the quiet agreement of strangers in a crowded room. The day was unfolding, full of these tiny, unremarkable connections. I finished my coffee, the bitter aftertaste a familiar anchor. Time to join the meeting, to add my voice to the collective hum. But I felt lighter, as if I had already been on a short journey and returned, ready to listen.</div>
<center>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="max-width:600px;margin:0 auto;background-color:#ffffff;border-radius:8px;overflow:hidden;box-shadow:0 4px 12px rgba(26,26,26,0.05);">
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<td style="padding:32px 40px 24px;text-align:center;border-bottom:1px solid #eaeaea;">
<div style="font-size:42px;font-weight:bold;letter-spacing:1px;color:#C41E3A;margin-bottom:8px;">MARRIOT</div>
<div style="font-size:14px;color:#262626;letter-spacing:0.5px;">HOTELS  RESORTS</div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:40px 40px 32px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td style="padding-bottom:24px;text-align:center;">
<div style="width:60px;height:4px;background-color:#C41E3A;margin:0 auto 24px;border-radius:2px;"></div>
<h1 style="font-family:Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif;font-size:28px;line-height:1.3;color:#1a1a1a;margin:0 0 16px;font-weight:normal;">A Note of Appreciation for Your Recent Stay</h1>
<p style="font-size:17px;line-height:1.6;color:#262626;margin:0 0 24px;">We are providing a two-piece luxury cooling pillow set at no charge to your household. This is open to you because your travel included a stay at a Marriot or partner hotel within the past twelve months.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="background-color:#f9f9f9;padding:24px;border-radius:6px;border-left:4px solid #C41E3A;margin-bottom:32px;">
<p style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;color:#1a1a1a;margin:0 0 12px;"><strong>Program Details</strong></p>
<p style="font-size:15px;line-height:1.5;color:#262626;margin:0 0 8px;">• Receive a two-pillow luxury cooling set, provided at no charge.<br>
• After a brief questionnaire, you may also claim a two-night stay at select locations, provided at no charge.<br>
• You will not be billed for the pillows or the qualifying stay nights.<br>
• One pillow set per household. Total allocation is 800 sets.<br>
• This opportunity concludes tomorrow.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="text-align:center;padding:32px 0;">
<a href="http://www.inmortalboost.com/huffing-ylr" style="background-color:#1a1a1a;color:#ffffff;text-decoration:none;font-size:18px;font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-weight:bold;padding:18px 48px;border-radius:50px;display:inline-block;line-height:1.3;box-shadow:0 3px 8px rgba(26,26,26,0.2);">Participate for Your Pillows + Stay</a>
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</table>
</td>
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<tr>
<td style="padding:0 40px 40px;">
<h2 style="font-family:Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif;font-size:22px;color:#1a1a1a;margin:0 0 20px;padding-bottom:12px;border-bottom:1px dashed #ddd;">Attributes of the Cooling Pillow Set</h2>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
<tr>
<td width="48%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:16px;background-color:#fcfcfc;border:1px solid #eee;border-radius:6px;margin-bottom:12px;">
<ul style="margin:0;padding-left:20px;color:#262626;font-size:15px;line-height:1.6;">
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Designed with breathable materials that promote air circulation.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Helps maintain a comfortable temperature throughout the night.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Provides consistent support for head and neck alignment.</li>
</ul>
</td>
<td width="4%"></td>
<td width="48%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:16px;background-color:#fcfcfc;border:1px solid #eee;border-radius:6px;margin-bottom:12px;">
<ul style="margin:0;padding-left:20px;color:#262626;font-size:15px;line-height:1.6;">
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Crafted from high-quality, durable fabrics for extended use.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">The cooling effect is integrated into the pillow's core construction.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Offers a hypoallergenic surface suitable for most sleepers.</li>
</ul>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="font-size:14px;color:#666;font-style:italic;line-height:1.5;margin:24px 0 0;padding:16px;background-color:#fafafa;border-radius:4px;">Quantities for the pillow sets are determined by the program. Access to stay dates and locations is based on program scheduling.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:40px;text-align:center;background-color:#f5f5f5;border-top:1px solid #eaeaea;">
<p style="font-size:15px;line-height:1.6;color:#262626;margin:0 0 20px;">We appreciate your choice to stay with Marriot. Your perspective helps us enhance the experience for all guests.</p>
<div style="height:2px;width:120px;background-color:#C41E3A;margin:0 auto;"></div>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</center>
<div style="font-size:8px;line-height:1.2;color:#f0f0f0;font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;max-width:600px;margin:20px auto 0;padding:10px;">
The train carriage was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. Most people were looking at their phones, but the woman across from me was reading a physical book, its spine cracked with use. She turned a page slowly, completely absorbed. I tried to guess the genre from the cover, but it was wrapped in a plain brown paper cover. A mystery, perhaps, or a romance. The train slowed for a station, and the familiar automated voice announced the stop. A few people stood, gathering bags and coats, breaking the silence with rustles and zippers. The woman with the book didn't look up. I wondered what was so compelling. Outside, the platform was a blur of movement, people flowing together and apart in a well-practiced dance. A child pointed at something, their mouth a perfect circle of wonder, but their parent was busy checking a watch. The doors beeped and closed, and we were moving again, the cityscape giving way to rows of houses with tidy gardens. The woman finally closed her book, holding her place with a finger, and gazed out the window. Her expression was thoughtful, calm. Maybe the book was about gardening, or travel, or history. It didn't matter. For those twenty minutes, she was somewhere else entirely, and her quiet contentment was a gentle presence in the carriage. I thought about the books on my own shelf at home, the ones I meant to read. The train entered a tunnel, and for a moment, we were all reflected in the dark glass, a tableau of silent travelers. Then light flooded back in, and the woman opened her book again. The man next to me sighed, scrolling through messages on his screen. I decided to look out the window too, to watch the world go by without the filter of a device. There's a story in every backyard, in every passing car, in the way the late afternoon sun hits a brick wall. The woman's stop must have been next; she carefully marked her page with a ticket stub and placed the book in her bag. She stood, smoothing her coat, and when the doors opened, she stepped out with a sure, quick step. I watched her walk down the platform, soon lost in the crowd. The empty seat where she had been felt suddenly noticeable. The journey continued, the rhythm of the tracks a constant underneath everything. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound, imagining where all my fellow passengers were headed. Home, to work, to meet someone, to be alone. Each with their own internal narrative, their own book, whether it was bound in paper or simply held in memory. It was a comforting thought, this shared solitude. My stop was approaching. I gathered my things, feeling the pleasant weight of my own unread stories waiting for me. The day was nearly done, but the evening held its own potential for quiet observation. Stepping onto the platform, I took a deep breath of the cool air, ready to join the dance.<br><br>
The park bench was cold, but the sun was warm on my face. I watched a group of dogs playing, their owners standing in a loose circle, chatting. One dog, a small terrier, was endlessly chasing a larger retriever, who seemed to enjoy the game immensely. Their joy was pure and uncomplicated. A jogger passed by, headphones on, lost in their own rhythm. I sipped from my water bottle, the condensation cool on my fingers. This was the hour when the light was golden, when everything seemed softened at the edges. I thought about the conversation I had earlier with a colleague about favorite sounds. They said the sound of rain on a tin roof. I said the sound of a page turning in a quiet room. Both were sounds of comfort, of being sheltered. The terrier finally caught up, playfully nipping at the retriever's leg, and they tumbled in a happy heap. Their owners laughed. It was a simple scene, but it filled the space perfectly. I checked the time; I should start heading back. As I stood, I saw a squirrel freeze on the path, a nut clutched in its paws, before darting up a tree. The small dramas of the park continued without me. Walking away, I could still hear the distant bark of the dogs and the murmur of conversation. The city awaited, with its brighter lights and louder sounds, but for this little while, the golden hour and the playing dogs were enough. It's important to collect these moments, I thought, to store them up for the days that are less golden. They are the quiet notes that make up the melody of an ordinary life.
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