He sighed, willing away the exhaustion as he stared at the ramshackle building ahead of him. The faded sign was barely visible in the starlight. “Welcome to the Koastal Kabins Motel.” He sighed again.
When I turned 34, I decided to write a series of short stories. The only catch? Each story had to be 34 words. 34 years, 34 words. No more, no less. These are the fruits.