When I arrived in Austin that early August morning after 8.5 long hrs behind the wheel, I was ready for an air-conditioned room and a much-needed rest.

I pulled over to the first phone booth I spied on the outskirts of town and called Charlie. He gave me directions and I made my way to the address he’d given me. Although I wasn’t expecting much in terms of accommodations - it was Charlie after all - this was seriously disappointing and not a promising start.

He had found lodging in a dilapidated, funky motel, more like a series of connected shacks, really. It shouted “seedy!”

He told me it was only temporary and we’d find something else soon. Meanwhile, he was eager to fire up our sex life. I, on the other hand, had shifted in our time apart. I now found him kind of pathetic and creepy. His past abuse of me had soured the young love I’d felt for him when I’d met him at 14. He was 12 years older, and I was dazzled by his seemingly smart and clever ways. But now I could see him for who and what he was - just a sad, drunk loser. The thrill was gone.