It's these substandard motels on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street appealing only because they are just that un-appealing. Any practiced catholic would cross themselves upon entering.
The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe just a dash of formaldehyde, and the habit of decomposing right before your very eyes.
Along with the people inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy.
Tonight tenants range from: a lawyer and a virgin, accessorizing with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie. She's getting a job at the firm come Monday. The Mrs. will stay with the cheating attorney. moonlighting aside, she really needs his money. Oh, wonderful caricature of intimacy.
And not to mention, the constable, and his proposition for that "virgin", yes, the one the lawyer met with on "strictly business" as he said to the Mrs. Well, only hours before, after he had left, she was fixing her face in a compact. There was a terrible crash between her and the badge.
She spilled her purse and her bag, and held a "purse" of a different kind.
There are no raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses, it's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses at the shade of the sheets and before all the stains and a few more of your least favorite things.
