After attending a church service on Sunday night, I offered to give a new friend a ride home. As we walked toward my car, she stopped.
“Wait, this is YOUR car?”
“Yes…?” I replied, hesitantly.
“My roommate and I have seen you all over town! We’ve been wondering who you are. In fact, we were right behind you on the freeway today, and noticed the Fresh Beer sticker.”
This town is so small, it’s frightening. Apparently, the very sight of my car results in me being the subject of conversation. But yes, I suppose that the Honda sticks out like a sore thumb these days. With it’s Washington plates, missing hubcap, and bitchin’ 1976 roof rack, it is looking particularly super-ghetto-fly.