“Loneliness,” Mr. Spicer declared, “is necessary for pure poetry.” He drank himself to death at 40.

Dwight Garner
in The New York Times, quoting Jack Spicer, American Poet.

Welcome to Heartbreak Motel, where the lights are always low.

It’s late, really late, and you’ve been driving for hours. You need to take a rest or face the possibility of an accident. The radio has stopped working for so long you are in a state of insomnia. Suddenly, a dim neon light at the side of the road catches your attention. You can’t quite read all the words but you must rest. You enter the small road and soon you are in an open area with a badly lit motel standing before you.