Ford Aerostar

What more can one say? If sex could be packaged, say... in something like a loaf shape, something slow-moving, on atrophied wheels, this would be it. If I do buy this 1990 Aerostar it will be closest the date of manufacture has ever been to my period of use. It costs three hundred dollars. It has issues. It is incontinent. It dribbles like a nervous puppy, leaving streams of power steering fluid on the ground. It IS three hundred dollars, though. The Volvo has been slowly poisoning me with exhaust fumes. It knows I know it is doing it. There is no pretense that the gas is coming from some other car.It was always a junk-dealer's vehicle. It belonged to Josh, who was a legendary dealer with a shop topped by a surplus rocket body in Fremont. He moved to the hill when I had my shop and would visit with his girlfriend, who opened her own shop a few doors down. He would forget who I was when I repaid the visit. He would be asleep behind his counter. Sometimes in transit, a box of things in his hand he would be stooped down, sound asleep. When he died, the car began to grow moss along the window sills. This model is particularly well-suited, I was told, to becoming a biosphere. Gail had a boyfriend once who parked his Volvo in a field and it began to sprout vegetation inside. It became a refuge for field mice. One travelled as far as Alaska with Gail before it hopped out.