So, I stop at a Super 8 in Holbrook, Arizona. It’s about 2 am. The desk clerk asks for my license plate number. I tell her that I don’t know it off the top of my head. She looks at me with her steely gaze and “And then there’s Maude” haircut and replies coldly, “Well, you have a nice little walk back to your car, don’t ya?” It’s 25 degrees outside. I had just driven 800 miles from Oklahoma City. I have to pee so bad my hair has finger waves. “Okay, I’ll be right back. Just don’t lock me out.” Guess what? She locks me out.
When I finally open the door to my Hooverville, I wonder exactly how many prostitutes The Nightstalker killed in my room. I check my pillowcase for hooker eyes. No eyes, but there are 45 Scholastic Book Club inserts from 1983 filling the pillow in place of cotton. Well, I can’t get any sleep but at least I can order “The Big Chill: Now a Major Motion Picture” in paperback. The bed looks like the glaze on a donut that has been sitting out for three days. They have an HBO channel guide atop a television which doesn’t have HBO. How the fuck am I supposed to whack off to the local news? The only other channel is Oxygen, and there’s NO WAY in HELL I’m touching myself to a made-for-TV movie starring Tempestt Bledsoe again.
