Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

The man behind the counter there, apparently 24 - 7
not only running the gas station and mini mart but also
the motel, drops his head far backwards and elaborately
stares at us with one eye. “A double bed hai”, he manages
to ask in a way that we ourselves start doubting our
intentions. Finally he makes up his mind. “That’ll be 55
plus tax.” We push the cash across his counter. He throws
a key on it.
We pay and wade with our key through the heat back
to the motel. The cardboard of the door feels as if prudence
is called for, especially when the carpet inside the
room turns out to pretty much obstruct the door. A heavy
smell of disinfectants comes right at us, but there is a big
king size bed and there is air conditioning. With a little
effort we close the aluminium window that is slanted
in its grooves and turn on the AC to do something about
the sweltering heat. It works. Just as, after some angry
clattering, do the tap and the toilet.
When I return a little later with two plastic bags from
the mini mart, where I got ice cubes and drinks, a group
of messy looking ravens is blocking my way. They are
bigger than I would like, look at me with askance heads
and shriek fiercely. Their beaks are hanging open. The
one in front hops a few steps closer and makes a hacking
movement with his beak to one of the shopping bags.
Only when I wave it at him and firmly stamp the dust,
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