Contributor: R. Jill Fink
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The ancient window unit air conditioner shuddered, growling out a low-pitched protest while the woman smiled up at the stained popcorn ceiling. She reveled in the peaceful, four-minute window after each weekly session of fantastic, frantic sex, but in about forty seconds it would be time to get up and go back to life outside of Room #21.
Someone had actually been paid to decorate the motel in orange, brick red, and yellow in the seventies, but no one had been hired to refurbish since that time. Warm colors made her ill. It didn't much matter; she kept her eyes closed the majority of the time she was in here for two reasons: One was to keep her mind off of the putrid decor, and the second was so she could escape to places like Jamaica, Paraguay, or Fiji while she pretended she was younger, more desirable,...
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Author:
R. Jill Fink
