I feel ancient. I am, in fact, an antique. Forty-five years- I can’t believe it’s been that long since I rolled of the Mustang assembly line in Dearborn, Michigan- the hay day of my kind. I hear frightening things about my creators these days. And that sleek Toyota looks smugly at me.
My doors squeek and paint is beginning to bubble and itch, but my classic lines hide a powerful 347 Stroker. Enough power to bald a tire! It gleams in my engine compartment. My owner lovingly tends to me- for that I am grateful. Today we go to a carshow.
We begin with a bath in the cool of the morning to avoid water spots on my sparkling finish. We will make the trek to Wheelersburg and park in the shade. Pre-adolescent boys and middle aged men will guak at me. They will ask questions and point beneath my hood. No one notices the bubbles. Later we will head home, but not before I show them what I’m really made of. Gears grinding, hearts racing, I crank up to 6,500 rpm’s. The thrill of power racing with every sense before curising down the highways with the sunset behind me. I’ll be tucked in- percaustions against scratches- to rest for awhile. I am the lean, mean, green machine. That Toyota has nothing on me.
amanda Said:
on July 9, 2009 at 3:52 am
This is so cute! Is it your car?