I wouldn’t describe myself as a “car person.” I like them, and in my city they’re pretty much a necessity. No one, and I do mean no one, cherishes the idea of walking to and then sitting at the bus stop when it’s 108°, then being smashed against a stranger for the length of your daily commute, someone who may not hold personal hygiene to your same level of high regard. But, as I reflect on my automobile history, I am, I must admit, somewhat of a car snob, not to the brand of the car per se, but the type.
No, it’s true, though I am ashamed to admit it, but honest enough to say that the shame is probably not enough to overcome the habit. You ask me what kind of car? Well, a sports car. (Is there really any other kind worth the admission?) Continue reading
The Unexpected Life 