[color=f7941d][h2]Douglas Song[/h2][/color][color=f7941d][h3]Best 8 Motel[/h3][/color]
By the time Douglas Song had returned to his humble quarters, he had plenty of time to dwell on the matters of what all he had come to witness and interact with over the past twenty-four hours. By the time the key met the metal face of the lock, turning it over, he had slipped into the room, allowing the door to secure behind him. He would meditate upon the matter, look further in, and attempt to analyze every ounce of his insight and intuition, and the tea would be crucial to this.

Not that for the man, let alone anyone else, did this tea provide insight, but it was a ritual. One that could be invoked in times of deep reflection or insight. So his fingers set to work, unlatching the small metal hooks upon the unfinished wood. Opening it again after, where the minor chest rested upon the edge of the bed, he plucked one of the bags from it and went about to set the spartan coffeemaker, with its cheap plastic exterior, to boil. When all would be said and done, Song would review the news. But first he was to delve into the self, then sleep, allowing insight to grip him where it might not otherwise.

The two masked men would not be such a mystery for long, Song knew this, but the truth about them - would that come to light? That he would need know for himself in this new life he pursued.