The old hotel sat solemnly by itself on a deserted road just outside a very small town, close to the border of California and Nevada. The building was old, though not as old as some in the area, and not as well kept as those nestled in the downtown proper. Paint peeled here and there, faded by the sun, and the makeshift fence had all but fallen down. There were 20 rooms, 20 queen-sized beds, 20 bathrooms. The building formed a backward L, with the office on the far end and the upward stroke of the L running back away from the highway. In the crook of the L, out of view of speeding truckers and family SUV's heading on vacation, an almost empty artificially blue pool collected stray leaves and dead wasps.