My daddy drops by to see me in London between business thingy-ma-bobs. Yay! I have a visitor!
But the first thing he says when he calls to say he's here, is that my car window appears to be open.
So off I skip down the road towards the lil car, cheesy wotsits in one hand, car keys on my finger... and what is this that I spy?
A coat, very similar to my sleeping bag coat (what I love) reclining awkardly on the wall near by, and scattered around the passenger door, there appears to be glass sequins, sparkling prettily in the afternoon sun.
Oh no, that would be my window, shattered all over the interior and pavement. Sexy.
And whats this in the foot well? Ooo, that would be all the tapes which are a bit precious, which never get stolen each time the car gets smashed.
And the radio is fine... because it's worthless unless you like old mix tapes.
But lo! What's this I spy? The steering column prised open, wires looking to make their escape, and the bonnet lever wrenched to buggery, so the bonnet doesnt open. Hot.
Driving it to the parents in the evening proves to be enjoyable, with one headlight cover smashed, one indicator, and a rear light that goes out everytime I brake.
Maybe the car was a circus clown once. Anyone missing a circus car?
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