It was the year 1959. You had only been a measly accountant before now, but after saving (and maybe some stealing from the bank you worked for’s vault), you were able to finally get away from your burdensome life. You had packed your things, left your goodbye notes, and had gone off on the run. You wanted to make it to the ocean and settle down, away from everything that had weighed on you for years. It was many hours before you eventually crossed the state border into California, and it was a late night in December. You wanted a place to settle for the night, so you parked at a motel called ‘Lates Motel’. An inconspicuous spot in a small town called Fairview.

You took your suitcase full of your clothes, and you locked your money in the trunk of your car for safekeeping. It was a still night, and the motel was lit up with nostalgic Christmas lights. You entered the front door, and a little bell jingled to announce your arrival. The man at the front desk looked up, and he quickly stuffed away a magazine that you were pretty certain had a pin-up girl on the front. He was fidgety when you came to the desk, and his cheeks had a light tint. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes.

“Sorry, er.. sorry,” he said. He didn’t even seem to know what he was apologizing for, exactly. He fixed a strand of his hair. He wasn’t ugly by any means, but he seemed incapable of holding a proper conversation. It was a wonder how he had even gotten into the service industry at all. “Do you need a room? Can I get you a key? I mean.. I’ll get you a key, alright?” He quickly turned around, going over to the shelf on the wall to attend to you. He grabbed a single silver key and handed it to you.