Mamagotcha's journal

My brother wrecked my first car, a giant cream puff of an old Buick, within a few months of its purchase. Since no other car could be its equal, I haven't had much attachment to the three cars that followed it. I get the damn worn-in convenience of something, though, that you don't want to give up, especially if when lots of other things were changing, you could think of that as something that stayed. An old T-shirt just doesn't cut it.