Saw a van on the way to work that was a little bit mashed up in front, and it struck me how twisted wreckage just isn’t the same nowadays. Even some compact I saw last year in front of a local fire department, completely mashed, the holes in the windshield and the steering wheel pressed into the back seat telling their sad little narratives of post-disco mortality: just wasn’t the same as a ’55 Chevy creamed by a logging truck, you know?

And I thought, how many men my age are sustained by subversive 5-year olds and the Ramones; and I decided probably more than you’d think.

And in the city, an old man’s white Mazda had conked out on a corner I turn on driving to work. And I thought, someone should stop and help him, but I have to go blog, sorry old guy. Plus cars aren’t exactly my thing.