$70 bucks a night. $32.95 if you want the room for 4 hours or less, between the convenient hours of 9AM and 4PM. And right off I-95, so when you’ve been stuck on an almost-immobile freeway for two hours, you can finally give up on ever making it back to the city in time to get a decent night’s rest for work tomorrow.
Not that I work in the morning, mind. I live the life of eating bon-bons and ready trashy novels, obviously. But with the clock creeping towards midnight, we gave up and crawled into the damp open arms of the Westport Motel, strip-mall-driveup-stylee. It was, hands down, the dingiest motel I’ve ever stayed in that hasn’t resulted in an enormous cockroach climbing across my face in the middle of the night. Not that I wasn’t half-expecting it, mind.
So, I-95, you have defeated us yet again. I learned there’s nothing like sleeping in a room that smells exactly like my favorite high school boyfriend’s – years of stale cigarette smoke – to make waking up a singularly bizarre experience.
Of, course, Stuart one-upped me here. He aptly described our sheets as being old enough to vote.

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