Which is the point of new possession, taking/purchasing what you can get. It is a fundamental tenet of the market. If it isn't for sale, well then sorry lad, you aren't purchasing that particular model today. However, even if the luxury row isn't for you, there are other aisles for you to shop. We all need something to live for, and for some of us new possessions will do as well as anything else. In this mad, mad world where black is white, and up is down, why not live for a new possession? Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die has never before struck quite so close to home. Home might be where the hearth is, but this new toy of mine isn't ready for the staid garage that is attached to my lovely house. At least not quite yet. For now this new toy is ready to be taken out and given her head. Let home wait, it will be there when I get back, and eventually we have to head home at some point. Just not right this second.
No, this second, or minute or hour is going to be devoted to learning the "ins and outs" of my new toy. The previous owner didn't have much to say about her, not that I asked. The transfer of title between me and him wasn't the most "open" transaction on the market, but that is a "him" problem not (yet) a "me" problem, so I will leave him to solve it. She is much sleeker than my older model, and quite a bit faster, this is not exactly a surprise, I mean after all technology is a wonderful thing, but it is a pleasant thing to have confirmed. Just a little press on the accelerator, and off she goes like a shot. Who knew she was ready for life in the fast lane? Oh yeah, the previous owner(s) probably knew. After all, I am not the first to sit behind this wheel, and while I am "ok" with that, I don't really want to give it too much thought. Thoughts like that might "angry up the blood" or take away a bit of the pleasure coursing through my body as my new toy reaches speeds that I haven't been at for a long, long time.
As I reach those speeds, I imagine my new toy telling me that "she" had never been driven quite this fast or this well, I mean after all we all want to be Jimmy Johnson, and be the baddest driver on the road right? I have no trouble thinking this to be true, after all why would the new toy lie? Especially so soon. The engine makes a lovely little purr when I give the fuel necessary, and it is a lovely sound to my ears. I haven't heard that 'purr' in a very, very long time, and I think I could get used to it. If this is the way this toy is going to react, then I believe it is going to require a lot more of my attention. Which is just fine with me. My other toys have gotten a bit staid by now, and gone to seed a bit as well. But this one, is just my type, as George Jones put it, "long and lean, and every young man's dream." And while I wouldn't be called a young man the idea is still the same. Turning heads is a lot of fun, especially at the DMV. This is the kind of ride that needs to be kept behind a gate, to keep prying eyes, and wandering hands away.
Motoring along the King's Highway headed west, I feel as if everything is coming up in my favour. New toy, old owner fleeced, and miles of unexplored road in front of me. But wait, what the devil is that red light on the dashboard? That's a new symbol, the old car didn't have as many bells and whistles, and now I might have a deeper appreciation of that. Less features, the less that can go wrong. Bollocks what was that grinding noise? Nothing to do for it but to pull over, and check out the owner's manual. Hopefully it can shed some light on the "break" that is currently happening with my new toy. I open up the glove box, and out falls some papers, not the owner's manual but maybe it will help? Unfolding them, I get a sneaky suspicion that perhaps my new toy, now belching smoke, and making odd rattling noises, might not have been the "steal of the decade" after all. I unfold the papers, and begin to read, the title seems to be written in French, oddly fitting since today is Bastille Day. The rest is written in English, which is a relief since I've no French to speak of. It starts with "you won't thank me for this...", and only gets worse from there. The main take away from it seems to be that I have bought a "goer, not a stayer" and as the engine finally dies with a loud noise that could be heard a country mile away, I am beginning to think that might be correct.
Whomever wrote this little 'love letter' to the next generation seemed to have experienced the same problem that, it appears, I am about to have, I wonder how it turned out for him? Since I am in the driver's seat, I would guess not so well. Great just what I need a fellow traveler on the road to perdition. Reading further, I figure out that the previous owner will not actually walk with me to the city of fools, nor will he welcome me there when/if I make it. Well, that is just grand, he seemed a bit of a cunt anyway, but still in the meantime what the actual fuck do I do about my current situation. Trying to restart my toy doesn't seem to be working, and the owner's manual is not in the glove box, just that letter that was enlightening, but not helpful. I put my head in my hands and wonder, should I call my wife? No that doesn't seem to be the best plan, at least at the moment. Wait, squinting into the middle distance behind me, I see a small building on the side of the road, and volia! I remember I had just passed an apple stand, I wonder if the apple seller might be able to help out a fellow in need. Nothing to do for it, but to hoof it that way and see.
