A little drive-home writing

So, while listening to my mix CD #4 (I believe) the song Last Exit to Eden by Amanda Marshall came on. Before I knew it, I was back in Refractions and Alexis was all alone, kicking her own ass about a choice she'd just made. Submitted for your approval, a random scene from the much revised first novel of yours truly:

The motel room smelled of stale gin and various bodily excretions. Alexis dropped her duffle bag on the floor, kicking the door shut behind her. A cloud of dust floated up around her, ticking her nostrils and sending her into a sneezing fit. Already she hated the place.
The smoke-stained curtains pulled tight against the dingy windows, Alexis could barely see her way over to the bed stand from where a puke-green lamp circa 1965 had never been moved. When she found the turn switch, the lamp cast an anemic glow across the room. She almost wished she had left the light off, as it had revealed a worn quilt, two flat pillows and a television at least as old as the lamp. Sighing, she plopped down on the bed and was covered in another layer of dust.
A man’s voice slipped through the thin walls, slurred with cheap liquor and fiery passion. Alexis listened as he spoke to someone, possibly his reflection in the mirror, about repenting for the sins afflicted upon others. The preacher next door warned about divine retribution and the price we all pay for ignoring the needs of others.
Unbidden, an image of Rhyce at the stone circle came to mind. Stonehenge had been full, so he had brought her to a nearly-unknown circle, hidden among a forest of oak trees. Giggling, they had extinguished their candles and lay down inside the circle, looking at the stars as they made their journey toward the next day.
She had felt his hand on her arm, and a chill had slipped up her spine. Something inside told her to stay still, to let him hold onto her as they attempted to make sense of what they had been dreaming as of late. But the more conscious part of her, the one that had never known a man to hold her gently without wanting something in return, took over. She snatched her arm away and run.
And now she was in a cramped, filthy motel room, a tiny piece of pewter pressed between her breasts, burning her. She tore the cord from around her neck, chucking the dragon across the room, letting it hit the wall that echoed to her about her sins. The red eye shimmered, unblinking, staring at her from the orange and green paisley carpet. She resisted the urge that grew inside her to pick it up and return it to her neck. She banished Rhyce from her mind, as his blue eyes seeped forward, confused and paralyzed as they had been only hours before.
The man next door grew louder, urging repentance and forgiveness for those who had wronged you. He warned of fire, brimstone and the dangers of avoiding one’s destiny. He begged his congregation to call those they loved, those they hated, and those they had mocked and, in turn, beg for second chances and redemption.
Alexis didn’t stop the tear she felt slipping down her cheek, but she refused to acknowledge it either. Lying back on the musty pillow, she closed her eyes and prayed, not for forgiveness, but an unhaunted sleep.

Discuss. Or not.