Motel

That isn't a bug; it’s a feature. It represents absolute freedom. You can carry your own bags. You can sit on a plastic chair at 11 PM and watch the headlights sweep across the asphalt. You can leave the curtains open just a crack to see your car—your lifeline—still sitting there.

There is romance in the decay. There is peace in the anonymity. When you check into a motel, no one knows your name. You are just another set of headlights passing through town. And sometimes, that’s the best vacation you can ask for. That isn't a bug; it’s a feature

To understand the motel, you have to go back to the 1950s and 60s. The Interstate Highway System was being built. Americans had disposable income and a love affair with the automobile. You can sit on a plastic chair at