Broken Cars
broken cars
of my past - friends, mine: doors that wouldn't close so had to be tied with a string for a time until it could get fixed.
The exhaust poured into his volvo- and so the windows had to be down at all times, even when it was freezing - luckily the late night table at the village inn was never too far
the square horn and how it beeped twice to that sublime track before we split into harmonies.
The one sensible sedan I borrowed to drive us to the haunted house - and crashed the hubcap off. The other girls didn't yet drive, the misfits played all the way to the Frightmare compound or the Terror in the Corn, high on lust, at least.
These are fall and winter memories- of cars being what takes us there, but somewhat precariously.
I kept a rubber mallet under the passenger seat so I could hit the engine, the starter? for it to start if it needed it- an all seasons too. The blue, 1985?? Toyota pickup ! had over 500,000 miles on it ! and was a dream until it died. How the camper top cover of that baby flew off at 80 mph on the highway, headed to red rocks - killing, injuring no one. ohh the color and the long gear shift and how it was a gift and then a gift again. When I think of it now, it seems to fit into my pocket.
She didn't believe in seatbelts or being told she had to wear one. She smoked in the car, but it never smelled like it.
Cars that cost $600, that got stolen in the big city (that one was “NICE”)
the black mazda 626 or 323... called black betty - driven day and night by my braless body, platinum blonde hair, black rubber madonna bracelets- it wasn't the 80's it was the middle 90's.
There are so many other ones, I'm sure you know that. The car phone in the white explorer, the minivan that drove her perfect/ imperfect blended family around- broken cars of my past -