The Motel Up Ahead
The old Ford had finally given up somewhere between nowhere and nowhere else.
She’d been driving Route 66 for hours, the desert stretching endlessly in every direction, the radio fading in and out with every mile.
Then came the cough of the engine, the shudder, and silence.
Now she stood beside the car with her surfboard in the back, hat pulled low against the afternoon sun, staring down the empty road.
And then she saw it.
A little desert motel, barely visible in the distance. A flickering neon sign. A handful of weather-beaten rooms tucked beneath a dusty roof.
Maybe it wasn't exactly where she'd planned to end up.
But then again, neither was any of this.
She picked up her bag, locked the Ford, and started walking.
There was something about a roadside motel in the middle of the desert that felt like an invitation.
One night, no plans, no questions, and nowhere else she needed to be.
Maybe the car could wait until morning.
Maybe she could too.
After all, sometimes the best stories begin when the road stops.
 
Framed in Australian Oak
Ready to hang
Certificate of authenticity