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What A Ride

What A Ride

  • Una Penthouse Letter de W.C., via email

Gawking, I simply stood there. But I wasn’t gaping at a pretty woman. I know better than to ogle another human being like a horny fool. Instead, my attention was focused on a car parked at the curb.

Why? Because it was my car.

Or at least, it used to be mine. I looked it over yet again, as if I might have made a mistake. But my brain had already confirmed the reality of the situation. Beyond model and color, there was the identical wear and tear to the vehicle.

I’d driven that thing onto a used car lot, sold it and driven off in a different set of wheels. I had thought I’d made a good deal at the time. Actually, I still thought that. But in the months since making the trade, I’d gotten very nostalgic about my old ride. Good times had happened for me with, and in, that auto. I had... Read more...

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