“You want to stay the night, or … ?”
I recalled the motel-manager’s question. What else than staying?
There was a mirror above the king size bed, and there were cobwebs in the bathroom. The stains on the carpet, were probably not the result of sloppy breakfast manners.
You were silent, but your eyes held curses. Outside an SUV left. Who would leave a room a rainy night at 1 AM?
The black matchbox had only a local phone-number, nothing else.
A car arrived; another one left.
We didn’t sleep a lot that night, and left at break of dawn.
This is partly based on a true experience of checking into the wrong type of Motel.
Friday Fictioneers is a blogging community run by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, one picture, 100 words. What do you see in the picture?
October 14, 2015