Many years ago, Diane and I took Tom, the oldest, on a trip to Nebraska. On the way back, it was dark and late as we drove through New Mexico. On top of that, a sudden storm began to lash out at us on the darkened highway.
The nearest town was Las Vegas New Mexico, and the closest lodging we could find was the Inn of Las Vegas. Perhaps the loud party in the adjacent auditorium (that was really just a big covering built over a filled in swimming pool) should have been a clue, but it was late and we were tired.
The first room key we were given let us open up a room with someone else's luggage and stuff filling the room, which didn't make us feel too safe when we finally got a room of our own. Neither did the "fire escape", which was more of an old access panel from some older era, and opened to the hallway.
The saddest moment was when Tom dropped his toothbrush on the floor. He was so sad when he a mom made him throw it away, since his grandma gave it to him. But the floor didn't seem exactly pristine.
As we drove by on our recent trip, we were almost glad to see that all that was left of the inn was the sign.
