The air conditioner hissed and spat rusty water, like thin blood, like a snake with T.B. The shade on the nearest lamp was splattered with the stuff; looked like a crime scene.
“I’m glad you came,” she says.
I look at her. She’s pale and drawn. It’s been years.
“I’m really glad you came,” she says.
Her good eye is flame and it’s got some burning question. I’m supposed to say something. She looks pale and drawn, it’s been years. I nod.
“Sit, sit down, glad you came,” and she’s not even looking at me anymore.
I sit on the edge of the bed. My hands feel sticky. I mean there’s something sticky on the bed. I’ve been to this town a hundred times and never been to this motel. I don’t think I’ll come again. The air conditioner whirs and coughs with a wet thirst that won’t ever be quenched.
“Well?”
“You look pale and drawn. It’s been years.”
The neon NO blinks red for a minute and leaves an afterimage in the blinds. Someone checked out. She looked like she was checking out. This is where people come to check out.
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