No matter how musty the air or how rickety the furniture, check-out time always comes too soon at a Motel. This one had tiny soap, water pressure that was just a trickle and the bathroom door didn't fully close. But it had a great river view that for once was as nice as the photo on the website. I saw the lady staying next to me outside smoking a cigarette hunched over with a craggy face that only Raymond Carver could do justice to. This New England - the one of wind-swept tall grass and self-sufficiency and quiet suffering seems to still be here. The floods haven't washed all that away yet.