Ah, I love that smell of a new car.  When you first sit down, the odometer is on ‘000020.’  New!  The dashboard shines.  The gadgets all work, the stereo booms!  When you step on the accellerator – instant performance! It glides down the road, effortlessly, powerful, strong.  You feel free and strong.  You cruise the town to show off your wheels, don’t you?  All your friends have to see it.  Every chance you have, you are driving her, wiping off the slightest smudge, loving the way the sunlight glints off its lines.  It’s beauty in motion or standing still in the driveway.

Fast forward.

One hundred thousand miles later.  When you get it, it smells like last week’s McDonald’s run.  the odometer reads ‘100,020.’ old, just plain worn out.  The dashboard is cracked, faded and worn.  When you step on the accellerator, she pauses, coughs and moves out, still respectible but cautious.  She squeaks down the road over every bump.  You feel old and tired.  You park where ever you can because every dent shows, every scratch.  All your friends knows you’re ‘saving money’ for the next one.  It’s wheezes and spurts driving or sitting.



I’m that car at nearly 50.  I’m old worn out and faded.  My dash is cracked and degraded.  My acceleration is a joke.  I certainly don’t worry about appearance because when you dress up old you only have old in new clothes. When I sit I feel it.  When I move, I feel it.  Only trouble is, there’s no trade-in.



31 Oct 08

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