Chez Volvo

Last night my Volvo had a sleepover with the other Volvos at the repair shop. I'm going to pick it up this afternoon. It'll probably be cranky with a candy hangover, but at least it will have a new exhaust system.

Maybe it's just cause LA is car kind of place, but I feel more at home in my car than I do in my actual home. Partly it's because it's been driven a lot by all members of my family, so it feels homey. And partly because it's the one thing that I brought with me when I came here that I can climb inside. Maybe it also has something to do with how many times it's been towed (twice) here, and how many times ticketed (uh, maybe seven times?) in the scant two years--almost to the day--that it's been with me machetteing through the wilds of LA. I worry about the car. I feel bad for not washing it more often. I think about it when it's not around.

Or maybe it's just that without it, it's very difficult to pick up some more milk and stop by the post office. And that sometimes the only way you have to express yourself in Los Angeles is to step on the gas.