"On her second trip through town she found a little dive called the Cabana Motel where some rooms were lit up and the office sat at one end of the property with a badly damaged neon sign. There was a shell lot in front of eight white cottages spaced out along a tiny creek running diagonally through the property. These were the cabanas, she figured. Next morning they were pressed up against each other in a jewel-green leatherette booth in the Cabana Cafe sharing some toast, which they’d cut in half on the plate. He hadn’t shaved or spoken since the night before. She opened the paper."

© Susan Lipper