Sipping Monster energy drinks before punk shows, trips to and from San Francisco, the giant tire I hit on the 5 near Bakersfield, that time I got Mr. The removal was a symbol of my… adulthood, but the photo was always there cheering me on as the memories flew by… The photo felt immature and, honestly, kind of obstructed my view most of the time which is totally unsafe and I don’t recommend it. Rogers down from the rearview mirror and put him in the center console. At a certain point, I took the laminated photo of Mr. I screamed and yelled and sang my heart out - I could be Adele, Rufus Wainwright, or First Aid Kit when no one was watching. I laughed my hardest and cried my hardest in that car. I went from being an awkward teenager to an awkward 20-something to a slightly less awkward 30-year-old in that car. Thirteen years is a long time to have… anything.

The car has been vaguely unsafe to drive for probably the last ten months, but I’ve been pushing it to the edge, trying to squeeze every last moment out of it before it breaks down.

Rogers is dying and I’m having some real feelings about it. Rogers from the rearview mirror and we spent thirteen years of my life together. It was comforting, safe, predictable, and didn’t judge me when I cried. Grey cloth seats that felt luxurious at the time. That’s when my current car came into my life: a silver 2005 Honda Civic Sedan. After about a year, it suddenly crapped out on me and sent me flying into a (very small) ditch on the side of the road in Palmdale.

It was my first taste of freedom and it was delicious. I started driving it when I was fifteen to get myself to and from school (long story for another day). My first car was my grandpa’s red two-door 1997 Ford Thunderbird.

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