Things seemed to be going so well after the new slave brought me to Argentina. I had a nice warm night in a locked garage with an attendant, I behaved, and we visited some auto parts stores. Now that I reflect on those few days, I think I can pin point it exactly to when Curt and his friend Cooper took me to the auto parts store, and I had a few exhaust farts inside the cab; Cooper looked very sick and he was clamoring to get out of there fast. I thought we were all friends, and what's a little gas to pass between friends. Apparently Cooper didn't see it that way and promptly vomited. Next thing I know an Argentine man named Wolly gets behind the wheel and proceeds to attempt to drive by using my horn. Curt and Buenos Aires disappear as Wolly horns out of the city to a dark old barn in the countryside, teases me with a few spins around in the mud, and then abandons me. Just when things were looking up, here I am alone and probably destined for the scrap heap.
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Zebra Landy
Always noticed, always full of stories, and always looking for a mechanic! Archives
April 2014
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