The hotel gave us their last available room. I snuck Sesame in the side door and crashed hard. In the morning I got the car towed to what seemed a local mom n pop shop, Gary's Auto. Upon it's arrival there they revealed that they were a NAPA station (insert sound of doom music here). They boldly quoted me between $700 and $800 for a radiator. We had already sourced one at a local supply shop for just over $100 and looked up the going rate on labor, and the hours estimated for this repair, about 4. My New York roots revved up and I called shop after shop offering, "Here's the deal.. I'll pay anyone who'll promise to do it in a day $500.00, that's a fair hourly wage and a little mark up on the part." Someone finally agreed and I re-towed the car over. All there was to do was wait.
What made this stop particularly awful was the realization that there were no commons. Without a friend, our own home, or a car to store or bodies in, we had to "pay the parking meter" so to speak by giving a hotel 1/2 day rates, $50 per 6 hours just to be alive. We walked the area around the hotel to find concrete, wallmartsucks, giant big box stores and no sidewalks. One was not meant to walk here. This landscape was the new arteries of the machine that had become America. Lifeless and based on oil, commerce driven, and NO COMMONS. The nearest green space was way to far to walk. We reluctantly went into a wallmartsucks and got some strawberries. Behind the massive building next to heaps of cardboard ready for recycling a tiny strip of grass and a tree turning yellow and dropping it's leaves offered us a moment of repose. We rolled around in the grass as though it were water in a desert.
Oh.. One positive thing happened here. . . . Sesame got her own bed.