Desperately clinging to the last strains of "Sterre," Adam watched the kid approach. As usual, he refused to switch off the music until the customer's hand rested on the door pull. This time, he hesitated to turn it off at all.
    Though he'd never met this particular specimen of backwater humanity, Adam liked the kid already. As the kid opened the door, Adam grudgingly switched off the 'Dots in the name of tradition and took a good look at the semi-unpleasant intrusion. The boy was in his early 20's, average height, maybe 5'10", brown eyes, and midlength blond hair done up in dreds that stuck out in the oddest directions. He wore a rainbow tye-dye and pants that Adam assumed were hemp fiber. His walkman was blasting Morrissey. Adam flinched almost imperceptibly as that last detail sunk in.
    Making no attempt to appear busy or efficient, Adam stood up.
    "What can I do for you?"
    The kid smiled wanly, revealing a full rack of braces. When he spoke his voice was quiet but clear; almost shy.
    "I'd like a room. Just a small one, something cheap."
    "The guy in the car with you?" The kid averted his eyes-- looked at anything that wasn't Adam.
    "No, he just gave me a ride here. He's waiting to make sure I get a room. Real good Samaritan type."
    Adam felt his heart bursting in his chest. He didn't buy the kid's bullshit story for a minute-- the kid was a hooker. Goddamnit, wasn't it always the ones you liked. He wanted to reach out and shake the kid, talk some sense into him, take him home and feed him and let Mick mother him. Instead he pushed the registration form forward with a pen.
    "Here, fill this out. I'm giving you a single on the second floor-- 212 has a great view of the pool."
    Actually, the office had a great view of 212, and Adam wanted to keep an eye on the kid. He took back the form and waited while the kid-- Rain Maclellan, according to the form-- counted out the twenty-two dollars in ones, fives, and silver change.
    As Rain picked up the key and turned to leave the office, Adam called out to him.
    "Rain," he called, grabbing a motel business card, "My name's Adam. Call me if you ever need anything." With that he scrawled his name and home phone number on the card and gave it to the wan spectre of a boy hovering at the counter.
    Rain looked as though he'd treasure it forever. A brief, but genuine smile touched his lips, and he slipped quietly back into the night.
    Adam sighed and pressed play on the tape deck. "H with a capital hate" indeed. He tried to work on the book he was writing, but it didn't make any sense. Neither did _Naked Lunch_ when he tried to read it for the sixth time, so he settled uncomfortably into a B-movie on the Sci-Fi Channel and tried to get the boy out of his head.

*************************End Chapter ***************************
 

Street Exit

VonGraeding '99