Gaudy aqua. Base model, an understatement.
No stereo, not even a factory-cut hole.
Stick shift, no AC, no rear defrost, no floor
mats. $7000 for that new car smell
I had never inhaled so deeply.
At $5/hour as a shift manager
at McDonalds, I could swing payments,
commute to a commonwealth campus, still pay
for textbooks and a stereo system.
Two years and one snow belt later,
I transferred to a campus in a city on a hill, reversed
often to gain enough speed, make a run for it, downshifted,
failed. The little engine that could often could not
when confronting lake effect snow. The windows
froze on the inside, and often
sealed shut as if in effort at self-preservation. Cranks
broken: 3 while trying to get a crack open to blow
cigarette smoke out along with my breath,
Alanis riding shotgun, one hand
in the most metaphorical of pockets.
That car eluded any attempt at being named,
other than with various profanities.
I associate it with many near-death experiences,
and the best days of my life
I didn’t even know were happening.
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