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The Durham Inn was our shady motel and, as such, its role resembled that of a haunted house. Driving by it prompted a sinking in the stomach. Its darkened windows were a space in which we could imagine illicit affairs, prostitution and drug deals. It was both a site and symbol of social debauchery. And, like all bad motels, it was laden with our worst fears of anonymity and permissiveness, poverty and desperation. As one Cary resident said of another, cheap motel, "I always speed up when I have to drive by there.
For better or worse, they have roots in the Triangle and testify to local history. They jostle us to think about the American travel boom of the '50s and '60s. Their locations remap old thoroughfares and suggest that, years ago, visitors considered being downtown a virtue.
Relaxingly, these small businesses do not strive toward generic, virtual standards. A previous occupant's trash locates you as one in a series of imperfect guests. Best of all, they are almost free of insidious marketing ploys--the feedback cards, the guidebook dialogues and the Keep-Your-Sheets-Because-We-Care-About-The-Earth programs. In short, cheap motels offer folks a local and visceral experience. With these standards in mind--sensorial experience, suggestive of local history and sordid details--I set out to find and rate the Triangle's worst motels.
Third Place Lonely, Cheap and Charming: Shoney's and Amoco buildings rest abandoned nearby. I pull up to the motel on a Friday afternoon while a rainstorm is forming.
I get out of my car and enter the office, which sits in a house surrounded by the parking lot. The room is decorated with knick-knacks, pictures and a philodendron. The proprietor, an older man wearing moccasin-style house shoes walks behind a circular desk. A home video camera sits on a tripod behind him and read more me.
I notice my room is the only one in a series that does not have items resting on its window ledge. Room Number 3 has a row of stuffed animals and a Barbie. I put my luggage down and sit on the room's doorstop to watch the storm approach.
The wind blows a cellophane cigarette box wrapper into my room. Down the walkway, a woman emerges from Room 3. She watches the storm too.
While I wander around, I leave the front door open. Cary Singles and Socials. In the ditch in front of the homeless shelter, I find a piece of cardboard with "Do you know Jesus? As part of the rollout, Google Fiber is opening its regional office in the former West restaurant space at the corner of Jones Street and Glenwood Avenue in downtown Raleigh.
After a while, a blue Chevy Z pulls up and a wiry man carrying to-go boxes and a woman in all black get out and enter room two. They re-emerge and sit on some lawn furniture to watch the storm. I approach and ask them if they will help me drink some beer.
They say yes, and I return with a pack of Milwaukee's Best. They introduce themselves as Lisa and Ronnie. The proprietor comes out of the office. Gator, as he introduces himself, leans against the hood of the Z and tells stories about wartime in Vietnam, first wives, in-laws, second wives, the drugs, Latino work ethic, race relations, nuclear winter and, finally, the motel.
One of the stories involves a motel guest who promised a prostitute a rock if she gave him oral sex. She performed and, when she finished, he handed her a piece of gravel. She slit his face, from ear to ear, then down his neck. Gator lingers on the fact that she used a straight razor, which creates wounds that "just feel like something itching.
The police arrived to find that the husband had locked his arm around his wife's head. They pepper sprayed click here to release his grasp. A final story tells Black People Speed Hookup Raleigh Nc Restaurants Open a guest who said her boyfriend got drunk, then pissed off the side of the bed.
A mini-van pulls up. Gator approaches the driver and receives a brown paper bag. He returns, grinning, and takes out various packs of cigarettes.
See more little while later, the three of us see Gator emerge a changed man: He is wearing a purple satin shirt, a cowboy hat and tan boots. A pair of handcuffs can be seen dangling from the ceiling. The lanky young man does not like Gator because, as he says, "He acts like he's the president. They have lived most of their lives in Trout's Run, Pa. Ronnie worked at a factory and Lisa worked as a Rod and Gun Club bartender.
Late last year they took a road-trip to Florida. A strut broke on Lisa's car and they couldn't afford to fix it. They worked for temp agencies along the East Coast and stopped at Raleigh's Laborfinders. During this time, they slept in their car, parking in the lots of McDonald's, Wal-Mart and Laborfinders.
But, as she says, "They don't like you doing that. They have made their room cozy--pictures of Lisa's children are propped up on the dresser; a glazed cross-section of a log, bearing Black People Speed Hookup Raleigh Nc Restaurants Open poem "Mother" hangs on the wall; a zebra-print bandana covers the bedside table. At around 10 p. Ronnie goes inside to call his sister.
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He wants to find out if his disability check, which he receives after having a run-in with a unprotected saw blade, has come in the mail. With his beer in hand, he has problems working the phone card.
He makes contact, talks, and hangs up. Because all these phones are hooked up to computers, man," he says. He smokes a joint and falls asleep in a straightback chair. Click the following article and I eat pretzels and watch a Stanley Cup game.
We talk briefly about her children and then part at She has been up since 5. When I wake the next day, sunlight fills my room. The previous night's visit from a crack head, banging on my door with a fist full of crumpled dollar bills, around 11 p. I go outside and take a picture of the sun rising in the Coupe DeVille's black paint. I walk inside the office where the world news is blaring on a TV. Gator is sitting behind his desk, looking sleepy, and smoking a cigarette.
We talk briefly about his Cadillac. The King's Motel About a quarter mile from Raleigh's corporate skyscrapers, civic buildings and towering executive hotels, stands a dog food plant and a tiny motel called King's.
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The lodging's long, cinderblock building is dwarfed by the industrial containment units behind it. The sound of generators and an aura of floodlights fill the motel's parking lot. Surrounding the motel is a church, homeless shelter and porn store called Snap Shot News and Video. On a tepid Tuesday evening, when I enter the office, an older man in a thin, article source T-shirt comes to the service window.
He then hands me keys to Room The room has a bed, two chairs, a table, a TV and a dresser. There is no art on the walls. A cigarette, once placed on the bed's backboard, has burned a starburst of orange and red.
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An aqua blue Q-Tip rests on the window ledge. Fingerprints smudge the doorframe. Mexican phone cards litter the floor behind the dresser. A black condom wrapper lies beneath the bed. See more squares of sunlight come through the window and shimmer on a wall. The room has no clock. The television is bolted down. Some of the only items that are not secured--the shower curtain and complimentary soap--are themselves stolen from the Holiday Inn and Comfort Inn.
While I wander around, I leave the front door open. A half a dozen black flies fly into the room and land, upside down, on the ceiling. They are not fast and do not seem to be searching for a way out. They seem tired and slow. I bloody the back of Joan Didion's Salvadora thin paperback, by jumping and smacking them. I leave to explore the area around the motel.
I gawk at the dog food plant next-door. In the ditch in front of the homeless shelter, I find a piece of cardboard with "Do you know Jesus? I have never been inside a hour porn video store so I decide to have a look around.
Magazines and sex toys line the walls.