“It’s the kind of motel that makes you feel every one of your secrets. The cost of the stay is how much you’re willing to live with yourself. That, and almost eighty dollars. I close the door behind me, draw the curtain, lock the door and once I do that last thing, I lean my head against it to release itself from my spent, sore muscles. I let myself get lost in my own hurt. But only for a second.”
