My lone star’s Mustang was idling on the side of the road. A rusted, bandicoot mascot sat all forlorn atop the hood. I opened the trunk and saw a pair of hockey skates. A dark gray puppy was napping in a picnic basket and a gecko was licking its lips. I stepped into dark blue overalls and moistened a cloth to wipe down the one head light, tinted blue to match my lone star’s birthmark bruise. I asked him where he would like to eat dinner, he rubbed the driver side door of his car, as if to sing it a lullaby while we waited for triple A. Triple X was unavailable. Lullaby, my child, it could take a while. I asked him again where he wished to eat; I chose last time. Once more he put a reassuring caress to his car. I took my lone star’s face in my hands and smiled.
Some day, I’d like to say, “This Mustang saved my life.”
The above is a work of fiction that came to me while watching the local news. CBS Atlanta — they ask the tough questions!