In “Sex and Hotels,” Dyer says of hotel rooms, “Some rooms, though, are more inside than others.” Hotels promise a place where no one will find you. Perhaps some people live without this fear, without any sense of being hunted by a nameless threat, but I believe most of us accumulate through lived experience a nervous suspicion of happiness, an anxiety that twitches toward escape. It is the reason that when things are good, we anticipate the ground falling out beneath our feet, the fear of what Maggie Nelson calls “the happiness police,” coming to find us. Hotels do not defeat this fear, but rather set themselves up as an acknowledgment of it, a bunker in which to hide from the happiness police.