By Kelli Gibson

There is something oddly comforting about a motel. The lobby always greets you with watered-down coffee and the faint scent of cheap perfume mixed with secondhand smoke. Vending machines showcase expired Hostess cakes like a time capsule of childhood. And the useless hum of the old air conditioner fills the silence in a way that feels like home.

The real comfort, though, comes from the people. Everyone here has a story. It isn’t like the Marriott, where you go for vacations or business trips. A motel is for when you have nowhere else to go. For runaways with dark-ringed eyes and truckers who need warmth after too many lonely miles. 

No one ever says much. They nod when passing in the hallway, or at the ice machine. That is all. Because in the quiet, there is an understanding: at a motel, no one needs to explain why they are there.  

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Kelli is a writer who has recently rekindled her love for storytelling. She holds a B.A. in Psychology from Bowling Green State University and is currently pursuing a Creative Writing Certificate at the University of Toronto. Kelli lives in Ontario with her husband and their dog, Toto, who has abnormally long legs for a Maltipoo.