Wednesday, April 11, 2007

The drifter

Maybe you’re on the run from the law or your old man; maybe you just had to leave that deadbeat town behind and hit the road, get yourself a piece of whatever’s out there. Maybe your wife (or husband) doesn’t understand you, so you and your hot little piece on the side are making the most of every moment you’ve got.

Whatever seamy reason brought you here, you’re checking into a down-on-its-luck motel on the edge of town.

Dress the part, act the part; if you have to, catch a Greyhound into town to get yourself in the mood. Hole up with a bottle of bourbon and a Raymond Chandler novel, put some Tom Waits on your Discman, tell your girl they don’t make dames like her anymore, and wonder how your life ever came to this. If you have to ask the receptionist what time they put out the breakfast bagels, don’t forget to call her little lady, and always avert your face: you don’t want her to be able to describe you to the cops.

In the morning, check out, iron your shirt and head back to the office.

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