“What do they call you, ‘Wheels’?” – Wolverine

בקטגוריות: Uncategorized

26 Oct 2003

Juan must go.
His time has come. His number’s come up. He’s being downsized. We’re not going in the same direction. It’s not him, it’s me. We can still be friends.
Over five and a half he’s served me well and faithfully, my black Ibiza steed. North and south he’s travelled, suffered indignities, degradations and humiliations galore from my indifferent attentions, and now it is time for us to part ways.

Among the first of my friends to have a license, I was the first to have my own vessel, free for use at any time day or night – and use him I did, designated driver time after time, picking people up and dropping them home and always being the responsible one. Didn’t mind that too much, actually, though I missed the opportunity to drink some.
And since the move to Tel-Aviv Central, Juan was delegated mostly to commutes to work and back, enduring the grueling parking experience time after time just to rest – for days at a time, sometimes – while I walked around the attractions of the city. It’s time for him to find a better home.
Perhaps I will get a car from my future workplace, be that what it may. Perhaps not. Whatever happens, it’s time for a change.

He drove me around. He chilled me on muggy summer days. He blasted my music day and night. I never DID make out in the backseat, but I suspect that’s for the best.

Juan, ths one’s for you.

3 תגובות על
“What do they call you, ‘Wheels’?” – Wolverine

Avatar

shiffer

26 בOctober, 2003 בשעה 02:43

Here here !

I liked him. He was always nice to me.

Avatar

gryphonk

26 בOctober, 2003 בשעה 05:53

I can guess how you feel

Though not fathom the depths of it. I was greatly attached to Ivy, the rental I had in , and hated to part ways with her.
I feel for you; my your next steed be as steadfast as Juan.

Avatar

Anonymous

2 בNovember, 2003 בשעה 10:45

Flag at Half Mast

Alas, poor Juan! I knew him, Ygg my dear: a contraption of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: it hath borne me on its back a thousand times. Here hung those seats on which I sat I know not how oft. Where be your gears now? Your gyres? your honkings? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the asphalt on a flame? Not one now, to mock your own grinding? Quite helm-fallen? Now get you to Ayalon, and tell them all, let their wax an inch thick, to this favour they must come; make them honk at that…

טופס תגובות

פעם היה לי לייבג'ורנל. עכשיו הוא כאן, מגובה.

פוסטים