"It's the kind of place where a certain element stays to "lay low", if you catch my drift. There's plexiglass above the front desk, like the tellers' counter in a bank. People are hanging around the parking lot day and night, and some cars pull in briefly to visit those people and then leave. Some of the loiterers will check out your car even though you're not far away; they may even approach you without an obvious reason and--when acknowledged--pretend to be in need of a light for their smoke... You might get a room that wasn't made up after the last guest checked out. When you go back to the front desk, you might get another room that won't open. Your third room might have a broken microwave and a door that doesn't actually conceal you from the hallway outside. You may witness a drunk man stumble inside from the parking lot on the verge of falling over. There may be clumps of mud and a brown, sticky substance on the elevator and lobby floor. And maybe, just maybe, you'll wish you spent more at the place down the street... Or maybe you'll just avoid the area altogether."
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