Some signs don’t scream—they sigh.

This one? It didn’t flicker or blink.

It just stood there. Faded. Proud. Tired. Still trying.

The Lazy S Motel doesn’t offer much anymore.

No continental breakfast.

No keycards.

No concierge to smile at your bags.

But it offered me a moment.

A stillness that buzzed louder than traffic.

I pulled over, got out,

and let the dust stick to my boots

like it had stuck to this sign for fifty years.

There was a payphone nearby—still upright,

as if someone might come back to call home.

The letters on the sign were half-erased,

like a sentence left unfinished on purpose.

The arrow didn’t point anywhere anymore.

And yet… I loved it.

I loved that this sign still stood,

even when everything around it had given up.

I loved that it didn’t need color to make a statement.

I loved that even in the middle of nowhere, (while road tripping thru Colorado) 

I found something worth pulling over for.

Some days, I feel like this sign.

Weathered. Crooked. But still standing.

Still pointing—maybe not in the right direction,

but pointing nonetheless.

And on those days, I remember:

Even the Lazy S had its glory.

Even the faded ones are full of story.

And even if no one checks in anymore…

The sign still shows up.