
Cottage Terrace Inn, Room 104
You imagine riding back home with the two girls. During the ride, they don't talk to you much. You sit in the back seat and just listen to them talking about girl stuff. Maybe they talk about makeup. Maybe they talk about puppies. You don't mind. One of them turns on the radio. All three of you sing along and have a god time. Then, before you know it, you are climbing out and waving goodbye. Maybe you all even exchange contact information.
As unlikely as any of it is, it inspires you. You get up and go to the motel room door. You put your jacket on.
"Anyone need anything from the MunchMart?"
The guys' requests ranged from alcohol to illegal substances to things you have never heard of.
"Alright. I'll be back as soon as I can."
You shut the door. You take a deep breath. You consider asking one of the guys if you can just sleep in the car.
Outside, all is quiet. You hear no noise, other than the cars speeding down Highway 9. You can still hear the guys inside the room, but you tune them out and watch the cars whizzing by. You shake your head. You should be on your way, like the people in those cars, rather than standing in front of room 104.
Oh well, you think. What am I going to do?
You notice that a guy is walking across the highway, or appears to be. You move a few feet closer to get a better look. There is still a great distance between but you can see what looks like a man walking across a highway despite a substantial flow of cars.
"That's not too smart," you grumble. "It's probably kind of icy out there. People act like they want to die."
A very brisk breeze picks up just as you mention death. You pull your hood on. Your jacket is not heavy enough for the cold.
You think about the girls again. They are just two doors down. You are standing between rooms 105 and 106. You see that the door to room 106 is open.
You begin to fret. Are they already gone? You inch up to the door. If a worker is inside cleaning it, you can forget about paying the girls for a ride home. You can forget about getting away from the rowdy bunch.
As you step closer and closer, you see no sign of a worker. The room looks torn up, though.
You decide to:
You decide to:
or
.
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