This was the first car I owned – not very glam but dead reliable. And isn’t that just what ever young fella wants, of an evening, out with a new date? You want reliable. Whoever said girls like boys with glamorous cars was dreamin’. It’s a bit of a philosophical issue when you start to dwell on it. Does one become reliable due to the car they drive, or does one get such a car because they are essentially reliable? It would be fair to say every four year old understands the inherent meaninglessness and absurdity of life on earth, hours in the kindy sandpit, arguing essence precedes existence and visa versa. Then the teacher rolls out the pedal car. Existential angst is replaced with who-goes-first angst – getting behind that wheel defines ones being and giving that car up is not an option, not at least, until home time and Mum promises a custard square for afternoon tea.
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