Tramps Like Us

On Friday afternoon I was sitting in my other-century VW that won’t start, in the parking lot of the office in a pouring warm rain, in the hellish area of local prostitution and questionable suburban development, where public transit is grim and uneven, and no one who loves me could come to rescue me in less than 45 minutes driving. Oh that was lonely and miserable.

Then the car just started.

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