The old volvo, wait, it wasn't the blue one. It was a toyota. My car. Silver. Broken left window, thirsty radiator, music and the drifting into new horizons.
Paramour I was of a doomed time to come and haunt me.
I had a cotton bag with oils and soaps in the trunk that didn't close properly. A couple of sheets, a heavy green book on essential oils. A bunch of plastic bottles, gallons of water, for my leaking radiator, the shift stick so smooth and the tape recorder slowly burning my tapes and my skin.
I would cuddle up in a bunch of sheets or blankets when I drove at night, freezing, smoking, listening to Sara Mc Lachlan's Possession, Roberta Flack, The Band, Duke Ellington, Chet Baker and Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, Otis Redding. Feeling the impossible burn of the wound grow into a hapless, helpless scar, thick and itchy. Just being there. Burning despite anything that happened around me, like the eye of a very wild and whirly tropical storm. The ship, the wee morning hours in the Pacific Ocean, the coffee at Cafe de Luxxe and acrobatics, dancing through some smooth summer nights, with the hoolahoop at my side.
I'm freezing now. We went running today early in the morning. First my alarm clock rang, then hers. We crawled further into our blankets but once we were outside the light of the morning and the fresh, clean cut chilled air shocked me awake.
The colored leaves smudged into the wet ground, the army guys training and the soft thuds of our steps, running swiftly through the fall.
Coffee, cereal, The Times, she in her hazelnut eye glory and I still nervous and excited for our future to come.
I called LA yesterday. The Austrian said the other girl looks like she is fifty and the boys are doing well, Halloween is around the corner; today I get my bed, futon, chair, desk.
The Toyota. With 250 000 Miles and still running so well. The New York girl saw me ride away, softly chuckling, protecting me from false altruism like a lion mother her cubs from hyenas. Now some other searcher got my old car, in the city of lost angels.
What does he know about - Veronica, the Massage School nights,the Toyota and the sunsets on 405. Alex and the Cafe on the corner somewhere near Bundy and Santa Monica Blvd. The lost tapes and my peace of mind driving in that car.

I now run and live on Stockholmer Street.