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needles needling needlessly with little thread... or much of anything else...

(foolish dribbles to be written at uncertain times, on an irregular basis, from uncertain sections of the ever expending universe, and from whatever dimension I-We-Us-Them might find ourselves/ myself in …)

Monday, April 17, 2006

station wagon smoke 


Hennessy VSOP. That’s what I’m talking about. There’s been smoke coming out of my car. Like I’m stopping at a red light and it’s over eighty degrees out there, my windows are down because my a.c. sucks, I see smoke coming out from under the hood of my car, and at first I don’t know if it’s my problem or the other guy’s exhaust spewing all over me … it’s been a few weeks now, and since I’ve started driving my car, that I’ve started asking myself some serious questions. It smells like burnt rubber! But I figured it was all part of the ride. My dad gave me this car a few months ago. Lucky me! I was driving a Mazda back then, which went to shit, and every other day it was breaking down, and I was spending hundreds of dollars I didn’t have. It got real bad, and it started to look as if I was going to quit my job—30 minute commute both ways—when my dad offered to “lend” me his car, a 1990 Peugeot station wagon. That was a few months ago. Thanks to my dad, I didn’t have to quit my job. And from the get go, there’s been a “burnt” smell to the car, which I’ve always figured to be part of the experience.

I take a screenwriter’s class at ACC and I take I35 to Braker lane every Wednesday, then I more often than not get stuck at the red light at North Lamar. For several weeks now, I’ve been seeing smoke coming from underneath my hood, but I haven’t been sure. Last week, it was obvious. It was like a fucking BBQ. It reminded me of that time I was stuck in traffic in Hoboken waiting to enter the tunnel to Manhatan in my little Chevette! People next to me kept looking at me with lots of fear in their eyes. There was some major smoke coming out of my hood, and there was no shoulder for me to go onto, nowhere for me to go! If I exploded, so did they! At the Lamar intersection, it wasn’t so drastic. The smoke wasn’t so bad. I kept going, went to class, came back home, went to sleep, woke up, et cetera … and popped up the hood finally to see what the fuck was going on.



Two blocks of wood were stuck up next to my battery, holding it there, half carbonized from heat and such. I couldn’t believe it! Why would anybody put wood in the engine? At any time, they could have flamed up and taken me to hell! I called my dad to ask him who had changed to battery last? He hadn’t ever gotten it changed, so this dated to before he’d bought the car.
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