Holiday Inn, circa 1985. The scent of disinfectant, stale smoke. Air conditioning. The hum of the soda machine. The ice machine. Dad gives me a a few quarters to buy a Dr. Pepper. Savannah, Georgia, perhaps. Walking from the hotel room to the machines was like walking in a city at night. Scary, thrilling, liberating. A can was maybe 50 cents back then. Hard to remember.