It's really weird to drive again.
I mean, someone who lives in the great urban sprawl that is the northeastern United States can get away with not driving anywhere at all. I mean, you could, just like Brett Farve could throw the ball to his own teammates, but why bother? It's easier not to.
I mean, just parking in my building runs a couple hundred bucks a month. And a parking spot on the street? You get them by deed now, little pieces of property worth almost one hundred thousand dollars that are subject to repossession, liens, easements, the Rule In Shelley's Case, and all that happy stuff that we all forgot on our property final.
And then you have to deal with so many things. Repairs, for one. I remember last year, I was driving back from seeing some friends. And then, suddenly, the horn honked. For no reason. Needless to say, I was puzzled. I looked at it like one would look at a microwave oven that turned itself on completely of its own volition. Then it honked again. Pretty soon, it was honking merrily at random, like a duck having a stroke.
I'd rather not deal with the countless repairs. My car back here is a '92 Jetta, which puts it, incredibly, on the wrong side of fifteen. Back in high school, it was nicknamed the Lego, because you could easily take it apart and put it back together again. If you pulled just so, the gear shift would just come off in your hand, even while driving. I was never stupid enough to try this with the actual wheel.
And you have to deal with taxes, bipolar tax prices, and cops who can't be bribed. No, thank you. I'll stick to Planes, Trains, and, um, "Borrowed" Automobiles.
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