Most of the time, the car sleeps in G-mama’s carport.
Occasionally, it is woken up so that it doesn’t fall into a slumber from which it cannot be revived.
Even more occasionally, it is taken for a checkup, fill-up, or spin around the neighborhood.
Today, after knocking down countless telephone poles, running into buildings, crashing into cars, and getting stopped by the police twice, I decided to transfer my “Need for Speed” from the sheik Porsche on the Play Station 3 to the boat-like Ford in the driveway.
My cousin Stephen and I pimped our ride all the way to the gas station where we spent a whopping $2 to fill the tires with air.
Reaching speeds of almost 35 mile per hour, the 1988 Crown Vic provided Stephen and me with a shaky ride through the streets of G-mama’s well-established neighborhood.
Stephen applauded my bravery and unwavering faith in our classic ride, yet he wasn’t ready to test the car’s strength and stamina and take it to the car wash.
Just before my aunt and grandmother became concerned about our whereabouts, Stephen and I navigated the car back into its bed and let it return to sleep.
Call me crazy, but I never doubted that the Crown Vic would get us home safely. The Porsche, though? I’ll be lucky to make it 10 seconds without crashing into a barrier. I guess it’s a good thing that my need for speed is satisfied with a real life adventure of 35 miles per hour.
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