Good enough for us.
Mark parked by the office. He turned off the engine.
He sat there with both hands still on the wheel.
Ezoic
“You go,” he said. “I’ll wait here.”
I didn’t argue. I was too tired.
I went inside.
The office was small and warm and smelled like coffee and old carpet and something sweet, like vanilla. There was a little rack of tourist brochures by the door. VISIT THE GARDEN OF EDEN IN LUCAS, KANSAS! SEE THE WORLD’S LARGEST BALL OF TWINE! A wooden counter with a bell on it. A key rack on the wall behind the counter. Brass hooks with numbers painted underneath. Keys hanging from most of them on little wooden tags.
Real keys. Not key cards. I hadn’t seen real motel keys in twenty years.
The clerk was an older man with glasses.
Seventy-five, maybe. Thin. A plaid flannel shirt buttoned all the way up to the neck. A cardigan over it. Thick glasses that made his eyes look huge. White hair combed straight back with water.
