I come rolling in off the highway at a quarter to nine. At the office, I get my key. The room is just fine.
I can tell that it hasn’t changed since 1973.
So I take off my shoes, I lock the door and watch black and white movies on the color TV.
Tomorrow morning, there’s a diner next door for some breakfast and some hot coffee.
Tomorrow night, another town, but it’ll be the same old thing.
That’s what it’s like to be the motel king.