30 Days of Souvenirs: Day 14

Life on the road always contains a mix of ingredients for the wayward traveler. Some are exciting, some are dangerous, some are weird, and some are boringly normal. There is, however, one constant, the thing that binds many of us, like an awkward yearbook photo or the comments of an unpleasant uncle, and that is the use of the cheap motel. The late night driving haze, the melted road brain that can't stop echoing lines from Fleetwood Mac, the road dizziness that tells you to keep driving...keep driving. You might be driving a load from California to Arkansas, an expediter on a timeclock. Or maybe you went for a sunday drive and took the long way and ended up lost down a long dark highway. In the cheap motel there is a refuge: we are all born again here, washed in the blood of the Super 8, the Motel 6, the Sleep Inn. We're all lost sheep, looking for that neon light along lifes many roads, asphalt or gravel, to bring us back from the whirling dissonance of the highway hum, the roaring of the roadway. Its in this midnight resort that we religiously find our respite, the one place where coffee isn't good or bad, its just coffee.

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