The motel claimed cleanliness as its primary feature. Apparently at the expense of actual comfort. The mattress beneath her felt stiff and poky like the springs on an ancient couch and the bathroom sink was a mustard color of porcelain that had fallen out of vogue sometime in her diaper-wearing years. It was actually clean. And way better than sleeping in another bus terminal for tonight. She didn’t have many options besides sleeping on the streets, and she had a little cash left. Not as much as she’d counted on from the gift cards that were stolen, but enough for a few nights sleep in cheap motels while she gathered supplies for her new life. Only a chain link fence and some weather beaten concrete separated the motel parking lot from the edge of I-55 here on the south side of Memphis. A semi downshifted nearby, the low grinding noise reverberating in the otherwise quiet room. Jess checked the clock. Ten more minutes at least until her clothes were done in the guest washer down the hall.
