The Automotel

Rena felt a weird flush of victory. Adela laughed, dropped to her knees and patted its plastic lid. Rena took her tray from the opening pickup window and peeled back the plastic packaging. Steam rose in heady waves. She tried force herself to wait for the soft, pale chicken to cool. But she could have devoured a thousand steamed chicken fingers and a mountain of floppy fries on top of this child's portion,. Who gave a shit if it burned? Next the pool, it was everything she'd imagined, coolness and chlorine, weightlessness. The sunshine above her rendered gentle. To morrow, she'd start driving again, about 90 more miles to taho