THE PLACE WAS A DUMP. A complete wreck. I’d been in some less than perfect places before—hell, my little studio apartment was shoddy at best and it was in a bad part of town—but this place took the cake. Even by my low, low standards, it looked awful.
There was a sign out front that said the Market Town Inn and there was a neon sign below it that was supposed to say whether or not there were any vacancies, but the “no” part of the sign kept flickering, so I really couldn’t tell if there were or weren’t.
“We’re staying here?” I asked Shawn as he pulled in to the parking lot. I felt bad instantly, not wanting to sound like one of those prissy, high maintenance girls, but I just couldn’t help it. This looked like the kind of place you went in a horror movie to get killed by a serial killer.
