Fear and Canadian Loathing (ha ha)
an excerpt

One evil, horrible, rain soaked night along the highway, I was searching for someplace to crash. Must have been about two or three in the morning when I came across this place that seemed like you were parking your car in a downtown lot just waiting for it to get stolen. The sign once seemed as it should flash HOTEL/MOTEL, with a swiveling H, but now, as some kind of sheer, silly luck, the TEL had burnt out, leaving everyone on this stretch of road to laugh at the HOMO rooms. On this night, there were two people who didn't give a shit about whether people were laughing through the rain, or looking the other way. As I stared through the door, it hit me in the face. This wild little attitude. Brute force coming from someone who seemed too small to throw it out. Like years of aggression being tossed around as if you were stabbing your pancakes in a bed and breakfast, which would have been a nice place to stay. She was pointing at me as if I had something to do with a story that I hadn't yet been let in on, and just as I opened the door, a key was being thrown at me. "We're staying together. Don't you fucking complain, cheap out on the bill, or touch me."