The exterior of the Matador motel in Chico, California. Cheap motel pools are one of my guilty pleasures. Why, you ask? First of all, I enjoy letting passing motorists view my shockingly skinny ankles as I prance about in mad abandon screaming, "I AM ON TOP OF THE MOTHERFUCKING WORLD!" Also, the mysterious fungal growths that often are to be found near the filter housing fascinate me, as do the curious odors which often emanate from the motel-supplied towels - not quite clean, not quite dirty, always a bit smokey . . . and mysterious.
I'm becoming one of those creepy guys who really, really enjoys nasty motels. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or if I need to buy a typewriter, rent a motel room for a year, and chronicle my devolution.
Self-promotion for my new Pola site. Click if you're bored:
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