GavinLast time I was late, and this time I’m early.
I’m starting to have a weird feeling about Tony. Something like fear.
Why won’t she go out for dinner with me? Why won’t she tell me more about herself and, most of all, why do I care?
I spread myself out on the bed. The bed in Room 29. Our place.
I already have a strange fondness for this ugly little motel room, with its scratchy brown door mat and God-awful sunset painting.
I want to know this ugly little room inside-out, just like her.
I open the drawer of a bedside table, but there’s only a Bible without a cover. Same goes for the dresser: there’s nothing inside but packets of salt and pepper that look like they’re from the eighties. Under the bed, there’s some weird circular white machine thing.
I pull it out, plug it into a s
