Scotch

I went out last night and I found myself drinking eighteen-year old Scotch. It was a gift from the gods. Thank you.

The Scotch went straight to my head. I was just trying to hang on after that, maintain as we use to say. I felt like I was the only person drinking. John was sober. Patrick was sober. It’s always a weird feeling when you know you’re drunk and nobody else is.

           I was talking to Ian at the end of the night. He asked me not to Blog about our conversation. The nerve of him. Luckily for Ian I can’t remember what we were talking about. I think it had something to do with underage girls and perverts. Sorry Ian. 

Clara's Funeral

I towed Clara to a mechanic. She needed an examination. The diagnoses was not good, but certain. She has heart trouble. She’s pretty much unusable. I asked my mechanic for advice.

“What should I do with her?”

“Sell her.”

“What do you think I can get for her?”

“Five hundred.”

Poor Clara. She’s practically worthless. I towed her back home. Skip, the tow truck driver and I were unloading her when my neighbor the avocado tree killer came home.

“Did you take her to a mechanic?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“What did he say?"

“He told me to sell her for five hundred dollars.”

"Oh, Anthony you can’t do that!”

She leaned into my chest and broke into tears.

“You love her,” she said while crying like a baby.

“Oh, it’s going to be okay,” I said with my arm around her. “She’s just no good.”

My neighbor was crying pretty hard, which was strange. Her husband was looking on, which made things even stranger.

“Promise me you won't sell her,” she said.

“Maybe my brother will buy her,” I said.

“Keep her in the family. You love her.”

The lady wouldn’t stop crying. It made me feel funny. I was still sore at her for hacking down the avocado tree, and there I was with my arms wrapped around her consoling her about my Mercedes Benz. I had conflicting emotions. I felt ugly, but I was trying to be nice in her tragedy, the death of Clara.

Clara Walter

I had to retire my car. It just gave out on me. I sold it to the state of California at a decent price. I consulted the smog guru Bill first. I gave him the cars symptoms. He said it could be anything. Rather than putting money into it I retired it.

            I’m bringing my Mercedes Benz out of retirement, old Clara Walter. Clara is a four door sedan made in nineteen-seventy. She’s a temperamental gal, so much so it’s nerve racking driving her. She’s kind of like a mule. Stubborn and uncooperative. But she looks nice. She’s a pretty gal, real pretty.