We bought a car today. It’s a blueish-purple 2002 Chevrolet Impala. It has 65,000 miles on it.
Ugly as hell.
In fact, as I sit here and imagine myself driving this Chevrolet Impala–a car I’ve never heard of until now– I suddenly turn into a 99-year-old woman. And I’m hunched over my seatbelt. And my nose is pressed on the steering wheel. And I’m licking my fake teeth as I wait to turn left on a busy street.
Then old man Spencer and I are posing in front of our purple Chevrolet Impala in the village parking lot as someone takes our picture. And we wave our wrinkly flappy arms to whoever is taking the picture and hop in. And we cruise around while stubborn young folks beep at us because we’re going too slow.
And then I think about Sam and Sarah’s goldfish.