Our first night in LA, Bridie and I stayed in a terrifying, run-down, David Lynch-esque motel on the Sunset strip. The guy at the front desk was super nice although he said his credit card machine only took American Express, not my Visa card-is it motherfucking opposite day or what?
We had to get cash and for our troubles, he gave us a room at the one bed price with two beds.
The room had two lights in it, one sans lampshade, in a very dark room with brown shag carpeting and darker brown wood-panelled walls. I believe there was also a hunting scene decoupaged by the bedside table.
After stinking up the toilet, I took a muscle relaxer and Bridie kept drinking as she had all night.
While we didn't end up butchered into chili by Leatherface, B-Jo made me sleep in the same bed with her and my neck meat continues to be on the stiff side.
Also, in the morning, we had to go back because Bridie forgot her pillow and the guy at the front desk was wearing soapy plastic glove and washing a very cute white dog in the parking lot-probably a conduit of all the souls that had killed themselves there.
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