The car thing. I don't know. I take a lot of photographs of cars. Maybe it's a pride thing, understanding pride I mean. A material object as a representation of an emotion. There is no good reason to own this car. It doesn't move. It has a wee card tucked under the windshield wiper begging, "car for sale?" It's dreams. Materialized. Like bicycles or record collections, it's a merit badge showing some level of accomplishment. I have a couple of these, or similar, in my garage. But I like it, all matte black and angry like, chock full of testosterone. Owning it, or similar, may make up for some deficiency somewhere, because Christ knows there's lots of deficiencies in my life that need making up for.
I've had the money in the bank for a while now. It may be time to go car shopping. (That's a metaphor, for those of you keeping score)
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