Sweet! My sexy car returns... Prrrr.
Yay! After three months and a week, I finally got my car back! My sexy, little, white Camrey is back, and I've been loving it. Of course, the experience of my first drive home was excellent.
The trip from my mechanic to my house is over 20 miles, so I had a nice, long freeway distance to enjoy on the way back. I'd brought my stereo face and a pile of disks, so I was all sorts of happy to hop in and take off. The road was smooth, and I could swear I felt every inch of it beneath my tires.
The whole thing felt like a return to a former lover after months of separation: the seat held me close and smelled of familiarity; the steering wheel, the controls, felt like hips, shoulders, the form of a known body; every note of the engine gaining, shifting, lowering, was like the well-remembered voice; each little nuance of the drive was like each little quirk of the woman, alive in my hands. It was a hell of a good ride.
The stereo was up, pumping Underworld in loud, pulsing waves, and the road seemed to sweep toward me with abandon as I pushed the engine, getting up to 60 in short seconds. As the beat throbbed and pulsed through the vehicle, the wind shot through my hair and the smoke swirled quickly from the tip of a Camel Turkish Royal, I pushed her on and on, getting up past 80 Miles Per Hour in no time flat. I could feel the elation inside well, and the smile on my face indestructible, kept the pedal floored and hurried on to the next crest, the next top of the wave on my horizon, blacktop flowing beneath me and the speedometer creeping now toward 90, 95... 97... then the magic 100.
Nirvana has struck.
The trip from my mechanic to my house is over 20 miles, so I had a nice, long freeway distance to enjoy on the way back. I'd brought my stereo face and a pile of disks, so I was all sorts of happy to hop in and take off. The road was smooth, and I could swear I felt every inch of it beneath my tires.
The whole thing felt like a return to a former lover after months of separation: the seat held me close and smelled of familiarity; the steering wheel, the controls, felt like hips, shoulders, the form of a known body; every note of the engine gaining, shifting, lowering, was like the well-remembered voice; each little nuance of the drive was like each little quirk of the woman, alive in my hands. It was a hell of a good ride.
The stereo was up, pumping Underworld in loud, pulsing waves, and the road seemed to sweep toward me with abandon as I pushed the engine, getting up to 60 in short seconds. As the beat throbbed and pulsed through the vehicle, the wind shot through my hair and the smoke swirled quickly from the tip of a Camel Turkish Royal, I pushed her on and on, getting up past 80 Miles Per Hour in no time flat. I could feel the elation inside well, and the smile on my face indestructible, kept the pedal floored and hurried on to the next crest, the next top of the wave on my horizon, blacktop flowing beneath me and the speedometer creeping now toward 90, 95... 97... then the magic 100.
Nirvana has struck.