Kisses on the wind part 2

I wasn't sure where we were heading. I knew our plan of camping all the way across was on hold. After I read the sign in New Mexico saying we couldn't build a fire, couldn't use a propane stove, could not smoke unless we were in our vehicle with the windows rolled up. That was enough for me. The drought that was strangling the south west was turning our camping into an adventure in misery. Flip the page, change the story. On to old 66 seemed the way to go. Let's slow this thing down and make the most of it. Luckily that last job in New York padded the wallet in case of an emergency. This might not have seemed like an emergency to most but it seemed pretty dire to me. I was not going to blaze past scenery just to get to the coast and escape the drought. Let's take 66 and stay in some iconic motel's from another time. You didn't even grumble as I changed course. You kicked off your sandals and put your pretty feet on my dash. The miles seemed effortless. Funny how distance has no meaning when you don't care where or how long it takes to get someplace. I reached over and ran my hand through your tangled hair as we came into the first town. You woke up and shouted, "Hooray! That is the real deal! Sonic kiss my ass!" We rolled past the old drive up joint and smiled. I stopped and got us a shake and left a twenty on the counter. I was ready for a beer, not a shake but felt the need to keep that register ringing. The chains out on 40 were bleeding the locals on 66 dry. Not on my watch fuckers. Before we knew it the town was in the rear view and scrub weed and sand were all we could see. We rode a decent stretch before we had cause to slow down again. The sun was beating us up pretty bad and we both felt an escape was necessary. Like a dream the little mom and pop places started appearing. We rode through gazing on a living museum. I felt the need to soak it all in. I just didn't know where to start. I reached for the lighter and when I looked up there it was. A perfect neon sign. The Blue Swallow was on our right. I jerked the wheel and slowly crunched along the asphalt to the entrance. A 66 Stingray was sitting under the over hang. The sign promised phone, TV, and garage. Garage? Yep every room came with a garage. I walked into the office expecting the place to be cost prohibitive. I walked out with a key to room 6. I asked the guy if you could really use the garage. Yep. Most people don't because they are small, but you are welcome to it. I carefully backed into the tight space and entered the room from the garage. You had already made a drink in a plastic cup and had discovered that the windows rolled out with little effort from an old crank. Sitting there with your feet on the windowsill, I felt like I was stumbling onto something that did not belong to me. I was right of course, but looking at those beautiful legs I knew I had to at least borrow you for a bit.