She was one sweet ride, Old Red. Old Red was a what we called our giant, old, primer-grey sedan. There was nothing particularly spectacular about her, but we made up for that by making really interesting names for regular things. We called the brakes "Double-Backed Bobby Stops" and we called the blinkers "Chromone Tammies". She was all tricked out with Chromone Tammies, Double-Backed Bobby Stops, Side-Fleet Packs (seats) and a Whammy (dent). It sounded impressive, unless you spoke the language.
I could regale you with stories of erotic conquests won in the back seat or of speedy getaways, barely escaping with our skins, Old Red tossing up gravel and dust as we fishtailed around the corner and screeched away. I could, but they would all be lies. We mostly just drove around slowly and asked each other, "What do you want to do today?" We went to the mall sometimes, and to the movies. We drove to school and to the store. Not a lot of excitement.
There was drama in her passing, though. We lost her one day racing for "pinks". We would have raced harder, and possibly won, but we thought "pinks" were Jolly Rancher candies. Apparently not. So, she was gone. We missed her, but those are the laws of the street. You have to ride the Zen Cyclone, you know. You have to surf the Asphalt Blender. You can't go through life standing on the Bobby Stops.
Actually she threw a rod and sat in the driveway for two years before we paid someone to tow her away.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
