ARCHIVED FROM 2009 (Note: The husband I refer to is now an ex-husband, great guy. We had an amicable divorce.)
I am a woman obsessed. I sleep with one eye to the window and think of stories of how cowboys sleep. By the morning, I conclude that they don’t. After traveling 800 plus miles to Atlanta with my husband, we had stopped at the Motel X at 1:00a.m not wanting to disturb relatives or friends only a mile away. My husband was traveling for continuing education, but my main mission was to spend time with relatives and purchase San Marzano tomatoes in bulk at the Dekalb Farmer’s Market.
We drove straight from Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia. After thirteen hours in our packed Subaru, we wanted sleep.
To the Edge of the Perimeter of Atlanta and the Ends of the Earth for San Marzanos
At the edge of Atlanta’s perimeter, the legendary circle that outlines Atlanta and separates suburbs from city life, Motel X looked like an ivory beachside motel with a rail-guarded concrete balcony running the length of each floor. One oversized street lamp in the middle of the parking lot towered above the main buildings’ three stories, illuminating the space like a beacon— signaling refuge for the weary at $29.99 a night. Its height dominates the scene over the clerk’s office building with its awkward, disproportionate size compared to surrounding structures.