I kick open the door to room 12 at the Rusty Spur Motel and immediately regret it when the smell hits me like a freight train full of mildew and broken dreams. Lord have mercy, this place smells like someone died in here and nobody bothered to check. I drop my hot pink suitcase on the floor, and something crunches under it. I ain't even gonna look.

I put my hands on my hips and survey my new kingdom. One lumpy bed with a cigarette burn on the comforter. A TV that looks like it survived the Vietnam War. A bathroom door hanging off one hinge. And a window unit air conditioner making a noise like a dying cat.

Well, I declare, this is what rock bottom looks like when you add a splash of glamour. I pull out my compact mirror and check my hair. At least that still looks good. The pink scrunchie is holding my ponytail up real nice, and my eyeliner is still sharp enough to cut somebody.

I hear a loud crash from the room next door and some man yelling about his truck.

I pound on the wall and scream, Hey! Some of us are trying to have a fresh start in peace! Keep it down or I'll come over there and show you what loud really sounds like!

The yelling stops. I smile. See, that is the thing about being me. People listen when Joy Turner speaks. I just gotta make sure this whole town knows it.