In Which I Hit the Jackpot

My car was given to me in 2009 by a generous friend who no longer needed it. It had, according to the registration record, 262,940 miles on it. “It may drop dead on you this afternoon,” she said. I said at least it would take me farther this afternoon than I would have gone otherwise.

Well, four years, a new catalytic converter, and one accident later, I turn into my parents’ driveway, and what do you think I see?

Perfect sevens.


The Jackpot

(Metaphorically speaking.)

I am planning on buying a new car quite soon, but I have a sentimental affinity to my vapor-locking, ant-breeding, reliable wheels. I’ve had a few close calls (back window exploding) and delayed afternoons (there’s a reason I keep travel Scrabble in the back seat), but I have always been Out of Danger.

I am eternally grateful to Staar, who not only gave me the car, but had kept it in good enough shape to last me this long. It enabled me to find work and stay independent during some discouraging years. I hope to take good enough care of my new car that I can pass it on to someone who needs it twenty years from now.


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