Going back a month, to a post which fell into that small broken place where moving took its toll on the practice of spilling with sketchy stabs at daily or none at all.

It’s hard to believe that I hadn’t quite made it home just a month ago.

I made the same trip as in the Jeep, but came the superior back road, and in my own red pearl. I took it very slow because it felt like life had all kinds of headwinds for me. When I got to this little town (a place I have very ancient history with), the brat-child posing as a desk clerk first quoted me a room price of sixty dollars, bad enough, but then after a phone conference with somebody, her literal mother I think, told me it would be eighty, because reasons.

I told her that was nuts. She said it was the cheapest rate in town, and I told her I knew that was a lie. Then I left, and drove a mile down the road to the frightful dump in the picture. I paid 45 for my night there. The premium channels were excellent. The Internet was pretty fast. Nearly everything else about it was a lodging atrocity, but …

I walked two blocks to a place that sold excellent Mexican takeout, and sangria in a paper jug.

And I got this (fairly amazing I think) photo out of the deal too.