On the road, you never know what’s over the next hill. Photo by Kevin S. Giles
By Kevin S. Giles
Only room left in town.
Door won’t latch, casing splintered, footprint on the door.
Ashtray overflowing beneath no smoking sign.
Motel promises local channel. Nothing but gray fuzz.
I go outside. Kitchen chair by the door is the old metal kind with chrome legs and padded seat. Suspiciously resembles furniture at the diner down the road. Had a burger there, two pickles and an onion slice. Ketchup if you ask. Not bad, considering.