black chevrolet

Someone I know well stopped me last night. I was wandering through the commons in a half-drunken haze, to leave a commons coffeecup I had just purified of brandy. "Hi, what's up?"

"My car died, and it looks like you're selling yours. Could I..."

Yeah, no, uhhhh, absolutely no problem you can drive it let's run down to my room and get the keys. What can I tell you about the car? (what can I tell you about the car) Well, I've had it for five years and it's a good car (some problems though) I had the tranny rebuilt this summer and new water pump and new rear brakes and it drives like a dream. Her name is Nighthawk, yeah, weird but my car had to have a name I REALLY DON'T WANT TO SELL IT but it's getting to that point you know I just don't have anything left to keep it up, yeah, you'll like it. head up to the parking lot. you need to get home tonight, let me show you the basics, let's take it around campus....

We took it around campus. I was vaguely aware that I was, in fact, selling my car. Selling my baby, my life, my freedom. Everything I sweated for those miserable months in the packing plant, in younger simpler years.

Letting it all go.

But the alcohol smeared this awareness so badly I chattered away cheerfully, automatically, enthusiastically.

you'll like this car, John, it's a great car, feel that power? Feel those power windows and power locks and tight brakes? You'll like it I'll even drop my price a bit, since I know you and there are a couple rough edges. We can work out a payment plan if you can't front the price right away talk to me Sunday...

yeah talk to me Sunday...