The motel looks no better through rain.
I’ve avoided this trudge back, after seeing the place resigned to only use the room to sleep. It strikes me that this is miserable rain. The cold type that always finds its way down the back of your neck no matter what you're wearing.
It’s turned the pavements into grey mirrors and makes the whole city look exhausted. Which, honestly, feels appropriate.
My trainers squelch as I cross the cracked car park, weaving around potholes filled with brown water. The neon sign above reception flickers weakly, one power surge away from giving up completely. Everything about this place feels temporary.
Three days ago, I'd told myself it was only for a night. Just somewhere cheap while I look for answers. One night became two. Two became three. Now the woman
