The Stone Creek Motel
You always think you’re going home and then you
find yourself suddenly at the only roadside motel that takes dogs
on a Sunday night in Missoula having stopped at the liquor store to buy a
bottle of wine and some Pringles.Out the window of room 208 you
can see the inconsistent glint of Highway 90 heading east and you understand why you always wanted to be a trucker.
In a minute you are in your truck cab hustling down that
Highway, your fur ball dangling from the rear view mirror wearing tight jeans and someone’s T-shirt headed for that lineman in Wichita County slamming the gearshift up and down and checking your Colt 45 under your seat at rest Stops.
Or you could take the job listed on the board in the lobby of The Stone Creek Motel –
“Deer Cleaner” “Twelve bucks for the Bucks!” “Seasonal Work” Get yourself a rubber apron and a sharp knife and go to town.
You always want other people’s jobs.
The night goes on and you feel comforted by your new friends, Marge and Tiny( her Great Dane), as you settle down in the
lobby in the brand new spanking chairs setting up your Pizza Hut box and six pack of wine alongside Marge and Tiny with their feast of Wendy’s double burgers washed down with Zapple.
Marge asks where you are from and for a moment you have no answer
but she forgets to wait and tells you about her granddaughter in Des Moines and what she’s bringing her. Marge is nice enough. She is wearing the last pair of pink polyester pants on earth. At some time there was a daisy chain down the side of each pant leg but some have fallen off into the
vastness of Marges yesterday’s.
You could be anywhere.
You could step into Marges life in a second.
Take Tiny out and shovel shit for days.
Marge knows what she’s going to do tomorrow and you have no plan.