I'm not gonna lie; I picture my dad driving her in heaven

It only makes sense that my Sentra would go out in style. None of this weepy not turning over in the driveway because it’s cold out crap that so many lesser cars pull. Instead she waited until rush hour traffic ran ragged through the streets and only then did she give up the ghost. Kaput. She offered no warning, unless in your world squeaky brakes and a hissing tire and a steady bucking motion constitute a warning. She did not pull over in defeat. Instead, she opted for more of a Norma Desmond, hand-to-head diva-like swoon, blacking out in the middle of a main DC thoroughfare, her blinking hazards the only sign of the spark once within.

I am now driving a rental car, one whose design screams "My driver is homely!" and "I once paid a women for sex!" I like that it tells me the outside temperature, but it doesn't feel quite right that all of its windows are intact.