The sign hums, half-burnt letters, A motel promising nothing but sleep. Above, the ship glows like an amber god, Watching, waiting, unmoved. Frost clings to the glassless doors, Echoes of footsteps long erased. Inside, no voices whisper, No keys clatter, no rooms are clean. The night breathes in static waves, Metal against forgotten snow. Light bleeds, then fades— Nobody’s coming back to check in.