They said, “Don’t worry, it’s a short drive.”
When you’re crammed into the “back seat”
Of a yellow 77 Volkswagon Beetle
Along with 2 boxes of random stuff, a few bags of odd smelling food
And a particularly friendly chihuahua named Gnash
A mile may have been a hundred, for all the comfort it allowed.
The seats smelled of vomit and old lady
Turns out the car was once owned by my “friends” abuela
Some 20 years before
It had sat dormant for the better part of a decade.
Try as I might, comfort was moot
As was the lack of drool and a sense of impending doom I felt
Every time I heard a rattle or felt the jar of deathtrap over tracks
The only solace being the tiny window I opted to peer out of as we journeyed
The view was quite pleasant; even soothing.
Especially that time an attractive woman looked at me while stopped at a red light
And she smiled at me, eyes peering over mirrored shades
I smiled back