My Baby
Eight feet of metallic silver steel. From the moment I saw her, I knew she was Neveah. I opened the door, and to this day nothing has ever been sweeter to my nostrils than the smell of her new leather interior. Turning the key in her ignition for the first time, her purring filled my ears with joy. Finally after seventeen years, I had a space that was completely mine, with full mobility too. After several weeks, the initial thrill of being one of the car-owning elite gave way to something far better - a sense of familiarity. Comfortable in the contours of her seat, I have no need to pretend. I can smoke like a chimney if I want, which I don't, and not have to worry about her giving me a lecture about its harmful effects. Together we can find an empty lot or just pull into any spot and unwind. As
Bob Marley pulsates from the speakers we breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief. I remember the compliments we got the first time we took my friends out. From now on, I could come and go as I pleased. As long as her basic needs are met, nothing is left to chance, which is more than I can say about nearly anyone else that I know. I could even help my parents out by getting the groceries, chauffeuring my brother, and picking up our daily fare of take-out. I take care of her, and she takes care of me. There is one thing that sets her apart from the millions of other cars travelling the streets: she is mine. One of the army of Infiniti's rolling down our streets. From the wood paneling on the dashboard to the little cigarette hole in the fabric right above the passenger side seat, I know every bump and crevasse of my Neveah. My friends and I found excuses to give her a little exercise. Not only was Neveah the best car on the road, but, for a day, I was also the best driver. She'll never disappoint me without good reason. As long as her tummy is full of gas, her oil is flowing cleanly, and her battery has some power left in it, she is a sure bet. Neveah is a friend that I can always depend on.
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Bob Marley,
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