The air is humid and warm, but the sky looks dusty as the sun slowly sets. The neon lights admitting to vacancies and pointing to an open front desk are flickering an orange identical to that of the dusk. As the passing cars switch on their headlights one-by-one, the stars seem to follow suit. A/C units grumble on in each room, joining in the song the vending machine near the main entrance has been singing all day long. Two cold cans sweat in the hands of a father as he walks back to his car. In the office, his wife finds their family a room. A row of beat-up, dirty cars lines the front of the main building, situated a few yards away from the office. A trash can full of take-out boxes and coffee cups sits in the parking lot. The windows of the main building face the freeway, all blinds closed, light from TV screens flickering against them. A little girl sits in the office, swinging her feet and picking her favorites from the complimentary candy bowl until her mother's hand absentmindedly slaps hers away before handing the lady on the other side of the desk a form and a pen. In the station-wagon parked outside, a young boy sips gingerly on his cola and watches the girl inside. She glowers at her mother and then turns her attention to the highway. He follows her lead, turning to watch RVs and trucks barrel by, making the lights from the fast food chains on the other side of the road flicker like the neon signs above the girl's head.
