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The "car" thread reminded me of a quick jot I made once, intending to turn it into poem. It never worked out, and I no longer drive the supporting character, so... I'll stash it here.
Self-Portrait
Cruising through downtown in a '67 Chevy pickup, finger-snapping each stoplight green, bellowing "Sweet Baby James" out the won't-stay-rolled up window, while the burned-out dash bulbs, like polished hematite, rattle out the hole in the floorboard; dressed in denim and stubble, my head turning to follow brunettes in heels, those pretty office girls clickety-clacking their way through pigeons and the leers of fellow aficionados, I park in brick-paved alleyways with the engine idling to hoof it into bookstores, asking after periodicals to be told "no", leaving with smiles and backfire.
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