The couple next door were entering hour two of their marathon fuck-session as I lay awake, blowing smoke at the ceiling. It was my shitty luck that I would end up in the thinnest walled motel in Michigan, next door to the Jenna Jameson understudy auditions. I stared at the clock. It stared back. 3 AM. I put out my cigarette and went to get some ice.

My neighbors had left their window and blinds partially open, and the caterwauling was even louder outside. I could kind-of see Jenna Jr. riding her beau like a horse jumper at an equestrian event. I wasn’t sure if I should be envious of the guy, or feel sorry for him.

The show was over by the time I got back from the ice machine. Jenna Jr. sat in a chair propped up in the doorway of her room, smoking a cigarette. I kept my head down, trying not to make eye contact. I told myself that it was because I was trying to keep a low profile, but honestly, I was a little embarrassed. As I walked past, Jenna Jr. blocked my path with her leg.

“Nice night,” she purred.