The woman at the Hertz

The woman at the Hertz counter, meaning well, bent the rules a little to get me “something fun”. I ended up with a Mustang. I know that the Mustang has a long heritage of being a boss automobile, but the last descendant of that proud lineage died long ago. The Mustang I drove was little more than a beefier Escort, beefier meaning not “stronger, meaner, and faster” but “artificially inflated”. And I swear the thing had two gas lines, one to the engine and another dripping gasoline out onto the pavement. Next time, I’ll just take the sedan.

Also, everyone who saw me driving the ‘Stang said I looked like a big dork in it. Not a exactly a new thing, but I just don’t think me and that car go together too well.