Hello! I promise not to leave this story incomplete and that I have written far ahead of what I am posting, today. I hope you enjoy it, and please, leave me a comment. It brings me great pleasure to read them!
-SB
*
-One-
"Shit hole." I mumble to myself, looking around as the equally shitty bus moans away, stirring the dust from the dry silt underfoot, and blowing my hair full of retched plumes of hot, gray exhaust.
I look around, my eyes squinting to see in the darkness, my small suitcase in one hand, my briefcase in the other. I'm not planning on staying long. At least the motel is just across the street, I won't have to get my new black, heeled boots too dusty, although, after the long bus ride with the 'pillars of society', I feel filthy anyway. Crying babies and their frustrated mothers; groaning, farting and belching drunks echo in my aching head as I stare across the street at my destination- sleep and a hot shower.
The flight from San Francisco wasn't noteworthy, but the day had been hell since then. The rental car company had locked doors upon my arrival, only a handwritten note on the door to explain why-
'It's a boy!'
was written there, as if I'm supposed to care about that- I needed a vehicle to get to this redneck crap-heap, and looking around, its quaint charm doesn't amuse me. I suppose they don't even have a rental car agency, which means I'll be back on the bus after I seal my deal.
Oh well, I'll worry about that later. Right now, I just hope the beds are clean.
The motel is pretty much what one would expect by looking at it from the outside. There's a moronic-looking, glutton of a man at the front desk whose nametag reads 'Matt', but he looks more like a Tucker, Bucky or Trapper to me.
At any rate, the room appears clean enough, although it is terribly outdated with a brown and orange quilt covering the slightly sagging mattress- brown shag carpeting and dark counter-tops in the adjoining bathroom. There is a fireplace, however, which I'm always a sucker for.
Walking into the bathroom, I flip the switch on the wall, a single, bare bulb popping on to illuminate the small space. I pull open the plastic shower curtain, the metal rings scratching along the rusty chrome bar, and turn on the spigots. When it feels hot enough to cook potatoes, I remove my clothing, letting each piece pool onto the floor at my feet, and step in. Heaven.
