Evening.

The burntan on your arms tells you that most of your day's been spent driving into the eye of the sun, the hum of your tires staging futile fights with the rise and fall of the radio as the signal leaps from mountain to hill and back again. The sting in your eyes is equal parts sweat, sunblock, and caffeine burn.

You've got to stop somewhere - you're spent and done for. You pass by empty silent buildings, turned-off signs and black windows, empty and yawning, that watch you leave as they fall quickly behind. You've got to stop somewhereyou'vegottostopsomewhereyou'vegottostopsomewhere...And then, so quickly you're sure that it rose full and fierce from the earth itself, you see the bright flash wink of a vacancy sign; chasing lights in red, green, orange and yellow, and circling metal arms that say, welcome, you're home and safe now.

You walk into the office and the cool of the air conditioning drapes over your shoulders like the arms of your best friend. There's a calm smile on the face of the owner, who's seen it a million times before and will soon retire to the back, hopeful for a quiet night uninterrupted by a late twilight bell announcing another sun-glazed traveler with a windshield stare and sweat for cologne.

You're only aware of three things as you enter your room: the protest of the air conditioning unit as you flip it on; the steady gurgle of the faucet as you splash water on your tired face, and the clink of your keys as they land on the nightstand. The bed awaits; you fall, and know no more until morning.

June 14, 2014