LIFE. Not the one we’re living but the game, with all those damn pegs for kids. Mine always fell out of my little plastic play-piece car, which I secretly wished and pretended was a candy-paint, illegally tinted, souped-up lowrider 1960’s Impala. Instead, my first real ride was a white two-door manual 1984 Jetta, with purple tinted windows (only one opened, and all were peeling), a gas cap that whistled loudly on hot days (and, it seemed, especially when stopped at a stoplight next to cars with cute boys), and black vinyl seats I had to peel myself off in the summer every time I got out of that no-AC death trap. I later sold it – for all of $800 – to a kid from Española, New Mexico who very excitedly told me he was going to paint it, possibly with an image of the Virgin Mary, and then “slahm iiit and put rihms on iiit...!”
I think I cried. It was like I’d married off my first-born daughter to the perfect man.
This made me laugh, and brought back some good, old memories, as vividly as reliving it!
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