Streetlights guard the Ocean Park Motel,
A stench of sweat and food mix together,
The vocals of Elvis rock around the place,
As the motorists recharge their batteries.
A loud roar erects from the gang,
A community bounded by drive and resilience,
The kitchen closes, cigars are lit outside,
As they smoke the tobacco in their lungs.
The motors are sleeping,
Not an eye open,
Not a sound to be heard,
Their owners dream of the roads that are yet to come.