Sunday, December 18, 2016
It is not the crouching Toyota, nor the hidden Durango, but it is poised to enter the pantheon of epic chariots. It is the color of midnight, nibbles on plain kibble, and scoots along with the race horses on Interstate 10 without breaking a sweat. It's the first new car in this long and clunker-filled life. We are getting to know each other, and, so far, things look pretty good. It is homespun in a world of glitz and cyber fanciness. The windows work with a crank; the locks between thumb and finger; and the key is plain old metal: no chip, no dip. It's a machine to carry me into old age. With any luck I'll cross the line before Sapo does. When he goes, he will match the ethereal depth of a night gone bonkers with stars.
* Sapo is Spanish for toad, in this case a blue toad, like a poison dart tree frog, only with wheels.