Clayton has always imagined getting laid for the first time in one of the rooms of his dad’s motel. His mom, before she left, used to sleep with strange men in those rooms. His growing fear is that his first time will be in room 8 with the leaky bathtub that his dad has caulked repeatedly without success. Room 8 smells dank. Usually his dad rents it to drunk customers only, but occasionally a guest gets picky about numbers and insists on room 8. Tonight that particular guest is a girl in a long coat and a plastic tiara. As a rule, his dad asks no questions, just exchanges money for keys. An hour after the girl checks into room 8, she rings the office for extra towels. With a wink, his dad sends him to deliver them.