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Well, I'm off to pick up my wife.  To tell the truth, I'm a little late.  I'm late because there was a pond in my car.  To tell the truth, there were two ponds in my car.  I had to drain the ponds before I picked her up.   I had to drill a hole in the floor.  Although the ponds were self-sustaining ecosystems, my wife does not want them in our car.

You may ask me, "Why were  there two ponds in your car?".  If you do, I will have to tell you a story.

My car is a gray mare, but one time it was red, to remind a fine American colloquialism.

My car is only nine years old.  For some reason the finish came off.  I think the heat from the engine made my car not want to be red anymore.  Now it is the color of paint that has come off.  I wash the car, but it does not become red again.   It is but a dingy gray.  Now I let my son use it for his skateboard tricks.

When my car goes around a turn, it makes an unnatural warbling sound that can be heard for miles.  It sounds like two space ships colliding which is immediately followed by all the occupants  getting sucked out.  With a THX moan my car lurches over like an old ski boat.  The cry of suspension gone wrong leaves its wake in the asphalt.  Everyone looks.  "You can get a ticket for that."

When I drive my car in a straight line it goes up and down.  I'm sure the wheels are round.  The hubcaps don't fit quite right.  Maybe that's why.  We're used to it now.   From time to time I get a notice from the dealer.  The notice goes something like:

"Chevrolet records show that your car needs to come in for its 127,000 mile check up."

My car has a warning light, it says, "Service Engine Soon".  That light has been on for 30,000 miles.
I paid the dealer $50 to tell me that the light was not important.  It would cost a great deal of money to turn the light off.  I suppose someday, I might just poke it out.

So I'm on my way to pick up my wife in my draining two-pond car. For some reason the red burgundy ceiling cloth has come down.  I think the heat from the sun made the ceiling not want to be a ceiling anymore.  It billowed down like a great curtain.  It settles gently around my head.  I glued it once but it did  not want to be a ceiling anymore.  I stuck pins in it.  It did not stay.

I think about the time that after crawling out from underneath my car at night, I came  to find a copperhead crawling out from where I had been lying.

At the stop light a fellow pulls up beside me in a fast little car.  He is  wearing a shirt that says, " Chevrolet" on the sleeve.  I wave and try to get his attention.  Maybe he can give me a little advice.  Maybe he will be my friend.  He is pretending not to see me. The light turns green and he is off.  He pulls in front of me so I can see his car.  It is a new.  It is so new they have not even cut the umbilical cord.  It is so new  there is no license plate, only shiny heat proof paint.  It is smooth and beautifully designed.  It is quick and nimble.  It is not a Chevrolet.  It is not a station wagon. It is a Honda Civic Coupe EL with dual strut rear suspension and a new muffler.  Maybe the man from Chevrolet is trying to tell me something.  Maybe he is trying to tell me that the way to afford a Honda is to go into business fixing Chevrolets...

As he zips over to the freeway on-ramp he goes around a spiral turn.  His car stays level.  It doesn't make a sound…
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