I used to spend my weekends in the summer working at a K.O.A. campground outside St. Cloud, Minnesota. One summer, my friend and the owners' grandson, Dave, decided he was going to fix up an old Chevy Impala stored out in the ball-field. Since I was Dave's steadfast sidekick, I endeavored to help fix the car.
We spent most of our time dismantling the carburetor and trying to get the Impala to go faster than 25 m.p.h. I don't recall ever being successful. Autumn came and Dave and I parted ways until the next summer when we went to work on the car again.
I think a lot about that old Impala and I'm not sure why. It may have something to do with two small dents in the hood. Somehow, I tie that image in with the idea of being dented by people I've known. People I have crashed into who left me altered, but never totaled.
No comments:
Post a Comment