Getting over him took about a month. Getting over the idea of him was taking agonizingly longer.

I'd come to New Mexico because New York started weighing me down. I needed inspiration. I needed to see beauty. I was so tired of crying, tired of missing him, tired of my friends' attempts to cheer me up. I'd thrown myself into photography when work wasn't enough of a distraction, and eventually decided to take a full-on photography vacation.

I woke groggily that first morning. Route 66 Hostel had majorly dropped the ball the previous night. I'd paid in advance for a private room—$29 including refundable key deposit—and confirmed with a staffer named Ray that my late arrival was acceptable, but my welcome was an empty office and a hostel of sleeping guests. I pounded and pounded on the locked door, louder with each round, infuriated that my first night in New Mexico would be spent sleeping in my rental car with every bit of photography equipment I'd lugged from New York.

"Hey...there are people sleeping in here."
No shit. I'm trying to wake them up!

Stacey was an American gal about my age, seeming in desperate need of the cigarette she held in her hand. The old Irish dude with her looked annoyed while I told my story.

"Look, you really need to calm down...this isn't that big a deal."

Fantastic...pompous attitude from a little fuck with his bed secured; it was obvious if the tables were turned, the prospect of squatting in the driveway overnight would reduce him to tears. I narrowed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said the second thing that came to mind: What is my alternative?

Luckily, Stacey offered to let me into the dorm. I wanted to hate the place, but the bunk-beds were arranged in a relatively pleasant way around a cute book-filled lounge area, and as crappy as the bathroom and shared kitchen were compared to hostels overseas for a fraction of the price, there was something quirkily pleasant about the place. Stacey had the 2 dorm rooms to herself. She'd been living here temporarily while waiting on news of a job.

There were signs posted about mandatory chores. Unlike the infamous hostel in Santa Fe, this wasn't mentioned in any online or printed info about the Albuquerque hostel. I couldn't help wondering if reliance on guests as staff caused the slightly grubby appearance.

With the office closed and time wasted while I was locked out, I had no linens and only a few hours to sleep. As grateful as I was for Stacey's help, I felt fully justified in asking the hostel for a refund. A staff member named Justin apologized and agreed readily, but quickly ended contact after his initial email. As I probably should have expected, I never saw the cash.

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