poeto

My 87 Tercel is in great shape, only a hundred thousand miles and new almost everything, but it does have trouble with the bay area hills. Coming out of the tunnel on 24, leaving Berkeley, heading toward the suburbs, I was losing speed and the SUVs were losing patience. I shifted it down into second and wagged my middle finger. My best friend, Marvin, says that driving slow in a small car is a revolutionary act. Maybe hes right. A woman in a Hummer, no lie, who probably weighs in at 97 pounds, half of it hair, gave me a look that could kill, waved her phone at me. When you think of spoiled little brats in military vehicles careening through the burbs, you know how rotten the twenty-first century will be.
First insult that came out of my mouth was gaseating pig!, way too soft, lame, actually. I floored the Tercel, and through some miracle, I caught up. I had a half-drunk can of Mr. Pibb in my nifty little cup holder, the only extra on a stripped-down car. I grabbed the can, tossed it at the Hummer. Got more on it than one would expect. Testosterone? In a perfect world I would have sped up and left her in the dust. Not enough horsepower for that, so I let off the gas and dropped back, soon to be passed by Rangers, Rams, Escolantessweet revenge.
Tercels arent equipped with onstar, so I unfolded the map, doing about 50 in the right hand lane. More honks. Next time out this way, a six pack of Mr. Pibb. Two offramps later I was in beautiful Snorinda. Six bedroom houses, big lawns. Ghetto for the overtaxed middle class. I pulled over and looked at the directions. 233 Merwin Place. A few quick turns and I was there.Big house with a tract-home look. Nothing special. Lots of parking out front. I like that. I made a mental note to get rich and move out of South Berkeley. Maybe next year.