rooftop motel ┆ papamango and the 3-doorway

Papamango got to the Motel at midnight.

The ride from the airport
had been a long one.

Just like they’d agreed,
his eyes were covered.

With nothing to see
through the window,

the ride slowly started
to lose its shape.

Time went soft.

The road stopped feeling
like a road.

The lack of visual noise
sent him inward,

into thoughts that came and went
without much order,

half-memories,
random guesses,

and, over and over,
whatever he imagined
might be waiting for him

when he finally
got to the Motel.