YOU CANNOT OUTRUN
AN IDLE
GRAVEYARD
They were putting blankets in the car - the back
end
of a thirty-year old station wagon worth about 90 cents.
A real piece of American junk. Two windows did not
close, meaning they didn't open either. All down all
the time. Wet seat, even in the heat. The rearview
mirror, from what I could see, just dangled there
like some cripple's hand: reflecting the floor or
maybe someone's groin. The noise the engine
made was ever-fearsome and mean.
-
There were stickers on the back from traveled places;
like caves in Idaho, or salt mines along the Finger
Lakes.
Places this car should never have been, even when new.
If this car climbed Mt. Washington, it was all that it could
do.
-
I usually shy away from criticizing others: no sense in
calling
out what I haven't got myself. But here I'll make an
exception.
If this car had brakes, I'd bet it was a miracle. If it could
go
into reverse, I'd bet it was a trick. As for maintaining a
nice
and steady speed, well, downhill, in neutral, at idle,
decreed.
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