I’m thinking my next car should be a muscle car, to rumble through the concrete jungle.
I love that back-of-the-throat rumble of a finely-tuned muscle car starting up, then rolling along and changing gears. I can almost smell sweet hydraulic fluid just thinking about it.
Oh, well, back to reality. Can’t afford one. At least, not a new one. But I know where to find some fine and dandy used ones.
The state surplus lot. It has plenty of retired DPS vehicles just sitting there, waiting for me. I used to see them every time I drove home from agility class. They called to me as I drove by, week after week.
DPS used to drive Mustangs; I’ll definitely check out those if there are any left. And I’m keeping the law enforcement black-and-white paint job. Maybe fewer people will tailgate me.
I’m envisioning driving around in my own version of the Blues Brothers movie (driving slower and not breaking any laws). Only it will be the Soul Sisters. I can write my name between my knuckes with a ball point pen, just like Jake and Elwood. My jeans will be rolled up and topped off with a white t-shirt with a pack of cigs rolled up in one of my sleeves. (Okay, I’ll have to find a substitute for the cigs.)
With my hair in a pony tail and some cat-eye rhinestone sunglasses, I’ll drive to Becky’s house and honk, seeing if she’s brave enough to come out and be the other Soul Sister. We can’t sing, so we’ll just have to crank up the radio, with some oldies blaring. (And if Becky won’t volunteer, maybe someone else will.)
We’ll cruise on in to Sonic and I’ll order my favorite meal: a large order of tater tots and a small chocolate shake. It just doesn’t get much better than that.