So basically everything that happened three days ago (and five days ago): ditto.
Except it wasn't a meal, it was on the way to work, so it wasn't on a surface street: it was the ten. And instead of having friends, I faced it alone, so nothing needed to be said.
A rogue tow truck picked me up as I was calling my insurance company. The University Auto Center found the "real problem" this time. Keep your fingers crossed, kids, and feel free to firebomb Pep Boys on Washington.
I've only had my car back for a matter of hours, but every nuance in the road provokes sheer terror. Whenever I see the speed drop, I know its dying, I know its dying, even if its only because I've taken my foot off the gas.
I take deep breaths to try to relax, but it only reminds me how toxic the air is here.
I'm this close to cuddling into a fetal position and never leaving my room.
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