Category: cars

episode 37 of street dreams a novel

Episode 37

After about a fifteen minute ride Kerry and Hartley Popovich could hear Aleister trying to speak. At first, all Aleister could manage was a few garbled words. His two friends were now starting to hear some words and phrases that were decipherable. Aleister attempted to say a few things that sounded like:

“Where am I? I’m in pain. I need help.”

Kerry turned around and said to Aleister, “We were just at a party. You got the crap beat out of you by a big dude that you were arguing with. Someone called the cops so we picked you up and got you into Hartley’s car. The grey interior of the old Ford Tempo was stained with the blood from the wounds in Aleister’s head. The good news was that the blood coming from Aleister’s head was now starting to coagulate.

Hartley was now doing over 110 km/h when the car skidded on a snow-covered patch of ice and fishtailed off to the right shoulder of the of Bishop Grandin Boulevard.

About thirty meters behind them was a red Ford Taurus with Harold Payton driving and Whisper Willows riding shotgun.

“Hey Harold, look to your right. There’s a car on the shoulder up ahead. Looks like they’re going to need help,” Whisper said.

Harold and Whisper were just returning from getting a late night supper at Pizza Hut. The driving was hazardous tonight as a heavy snowfall had just begun.

One of Harold’s personality traits was both a blessing and a curse. He was a nice guy. Too nice a guy. Whenever he encountered someone in trouble, he wouldn’t hesitate to try to assist them. No matter how much trouble a stranger might be in or how dangerous this intervention might prove to be, Harold would jump in to help them without any reservations. Harold Peyton could be very impulsive and perhaps even a bit self-destructive if he felt that the situation warranted it.

Harold drove his car right behind Hartley’s car. He and Whisper got out of the car and trudged through the snow toward the white Ford Tempo. Whisper could make out a bumper sticker that read, ‘Crash and Burn’. Harold approached the driver side door and knocked on the glass. He called out, “Are you people all right? Do you need help?”

Hartley was still in a bit of a daze as he hit his head on the steering wheel causing the car’s horn to go off.

“Yeah, we need help,” Hartley answered as he lowered his shoulder and banged the front door open. The passenger side door was old and rusty making it difficult to push open. The light in the interior of the car came on so Harold could now see inside the vehicle. He could see another young man occupying the passenger seat. He could make out a third young male who was trying to prop himself up in the backseat. This individual gave out a shriek of pain as he tried to move himself into a sitting position.

Whisper opened the back door of the car and made a quick visual inspection of the man who was in obvious pain.

“How do you feel, dude? What the hell happened to you?” Whisper asked Aleister.

Whisper could see that the injured man had bloodstains on his beige Slipknot T-shirt. He also had some bruises on his forehead. She asked Aleister to turn the back of his head towards her. Whisper noticed three small places where blood had previously been flowing from Aleister’s head.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch me, lady. My neck and back are killing me and I feel like I just got run over by a semi- trailer,” Aleister said in a low pained voice.

Kerry spoke up, “Don’t try to talk now, Aleister. Save your strength.”

Then he turned towards Whisper and Harold and said, “Look we just came back from Boogy’s Sports Bar. We were watching a wrestling pay-per-view and having a few beers when we noticed that Aleister had been in the washroom for a long time. Hartley went into the men’s room to check on him and found Aleister slumped on the floor. There were bloodstains on the wall behind him. Hartley and I got Aleister out of the bathroom and into our car.

Harold Peyton moved closer to Kerry, “Hey, my name is Harold and this is my friend, Whisper. Back in the day I was a medic during the war in Vietnam. Can I check on your friend’s condition?”

Before Kerry could answer a police patrol car with its lights flashing pulled up right behind him. Constable Bill Noble and Constable Melissa Parks got out of the patrol car. Constable Bill took a quick check around the area to see if there was anything dangerous around the scene that he and his partner were about to investigate. The wind had picked up and Bill’s ears were getting cold. Hartley panicked and placed his car key in the ignition. Constable Noble saw what Hartley was trying to do and snatched the car keys out of his hand.

“What’s your hurry, Bud? Are you trying to get away from us? Let’s see your driver’s license and registration.”

Hartley remembered that he had put his bag of drugs in the glove compartment. He knew the cops were going to search the car. He gave Constable Bill a shove and was tackled from behind by Constable Parks. She quickly and efficiently put the hand cuffs on Hartley. 20180924_100134

Episode 37 of Street Dreams, a Novel by Ken David Stewart

Episode 37

After about a fifteen minute ride Kerry and Hartley Popovich could hear Aleister trying to speak. At first, all Aleister could manage was a few garbled words. His two friends were now starting to hear some words and phrases that were decipherable.Aleister attempted to say a few things that sounded like:

“Where am I? I’m in pain. I need help.”

Kerry turned around and said to Aleister, “We were just at a party. You got the crap beat out of you by a big dude that you were arguing with. Someone called the cops so we picked you up and got you into Hartley’s car. The grey interior of the old Ford Tempo was stained with the blood from the wounds in Aleister’s head. The good news was that the blood coming from Aleister’s head was now starting to coagulate.

Hartley was now doing over 110 km/h when the car skidded on a snow-covered patch of ice and fishtailed off to the right shoulder of the of Bishop Grandin Boulevard.

About thirty meters behind them was a red Ford Taurus with Harold Payton driving and Whisper Willows riding shotgun.

“Hey Harold, look to your right. There’s a car on the shoulder up ahead. Looks like they’re going to need help,” Whisper said.

Harold and Whisper were just returning from getting a late night supper at Pizza Hut. The driving was hazardous tonight as a heavy snowfall had just begun.

One of Harold’s personality traits was both a blessing and a curse. He was a nice guy. Too nice a guy. Whenever he encountered someone in trouble, he wouldn’t hesitate to try to assist them. No matter how much trouble a stranger might be in or how dangerous this intervention might prove to be, Harold would jump in to help them without any reservations. Harold Peyton could be very impulsive and perhaps even a bit self-destructive if he felt that the situation warranted it.

Harold drove his car right behind Hartley’s car. He and Whisper got out of the car and trudged through the snow toward the white Ford Tempo. Whisper could make out a bumper sticker that read, ‘Crash and Burn’. Harold approached the driver side door and knocked on the glass. He called out, “Are you people all right? Do you need help?”

Hartley was still in a bit of a daze as he hit his head on the steering wheel causing the car’s horn to go off.

“Yeah, we need help,” Hartley answered as he lowered his shoulder and banged the front door open. The passenger side door was old and rusty making it difficult to push open. The light in the interior of the car came on so Harold could now see inside the vehicle. He could see another young man occupying the passenger seat. He could make out a third young male who was trying to prop himself up in the backseat. This individual gave out a shriek of pain as he tried to move himself into a sitting position.

Whisper opened the back door of the car and made a quick visual inspection of the man who was in obvious pain.

“How do you feel, dude? What the hell happened to you?” Whisper asked Aleister.

Whisper could see that the injured man had bloodstains on his beige Slipknot T-shirt. He also had some bruises on his forehead. She asked Aleister to turn the back of his head towards her. Whisper noticed three small places where blood had previously been flowing from Aleister’s head.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch me, lady. My neck and back are killing me and I feel like I just got run over by a semi- trailer,” Aleister said in a low pained voice.

Kerry spoke up, “Don’t try to talk now, Aleister. Save your strength.”

Then he turned towards Whisper and Harold and said, “Look we just came back from Boogy’s Sports Bar. We were watching a wrestling pay-per-view and having a few beers when we noticed that Aleister had been in the washroom for a long time. Hartley went into the men’s room to check on him and found Aleister slumped on the floor. There were bloodstains on the wall behind him. Hartley and I got Aleister out of the bathroom and into our car.

Harold Peyton moved closer to Kerry, “Hey, my name is Harold and this is my friend, Whisper. Back in the day I was a medic during the war in Vietnam. Can I check on your friend’s condition?”

Before Kerry could answer a police patrol car with its lights flashing pulled up right behind him. Constable Bill Noble and Constable Melissa Parks got out of the patrol car. Constable Bill took a quick check around the area to see if there was anything dangerous around the scene that he and his partner were about to investigate. The wind had picked up and Bill’s ears were getting cold. Hartley panicked and placed his car key in the ignition. Constable Noble saw what Hartley was trying to do and snatched the car keys out of his hand.

“What’s your hurry, Bud? Are you trying to get away from us? Let’s see your driver’s license and registration.”

Hartley remembered that he had put his bag of drugs in the glove compartment. He knew the cops were going to search the car. He gave Constable Bill a shove and was tackled from behind by Constable Parks. She quickly and efficiently put the hand cuffs on Hartley.

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podcast version of street dreams eps 34

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Episode 34 of Street Dreams Aleister RichterA novel by Ken David Stewart

Episode 34 Aleister Richter

The man that Tony Barrows had assaulted at the party on Beliveau Road called himself, Aleister, which served as his preferred street name. His real name was Zach Richter. He liked it better when people referred to him by his alias. Two of Aleister’s friends rushed to pick Aleister up and carry him out of the house once they realized that the people at the partywere calling the police.

The two men who carried the limp body out of the house were the same two people who had bullied Herbie Schultz in elementary school, Hartley and Kerry Popovich. Hartley picked Aleister up by the head Kerry took hold of the victim’s legs. The two brothers, Hartley and Kerry were fortunate that Kerry’s old Ford Temple was parked near the back door of the house. They only needed to drag Aleister’s limp body a few feet. It also helped that Aleister was underweight and was very light to carry. Hartley opened the back door of the white 1994 Ford Temple while he and his brother slid Alister’s body along the back seat of the car.

Hartley climbed into the driver seat while Kerry rode shotgun. As Hartley turned the key in the ignition. he heard some moaning sounds coming from the back seat of the car.

“I don’t believe it. I think Aleister is still alive!” Hartley said.

“That’s great. But right now our immediate problem is to drive away from this house before the cops arrive. Step on the gas, Hartley,” Kerry ordered.

It’s cold out. This old car is going to need a minute or two to warm up so that I can get the engine to turn over,” Hartley countered.

“Fortunately, the night sky was now pitch black. If anyone leaving the party saw them, it would be nearly impossible to identify the car and its occupants.

Kerry and Hartley had known Aleister for about two years. They met Alister in a downtown pool hall where they went to try to score some weed and acid. Aleister was fairly well known in this area of downtown Winnipeg. One could say that he carved out his own territory. Aleister was just a year or two older than Kerry and Hartley. He was a sociable type of character and invited the two brothers over to an apartment on Furby Street that he shared with his girlfriend. Aleister sold Kerry and Herbie a few buttons of peyote, some acid and a seven- ounce bag of Purple Kush. That was a better-than-average sale for Aleister, so he thought, “Why not celebrate with my new customers? Who knows? They may even become my friends.”

Aleister had not always lived in a rundown apartment on Furby Street. His parents were both successful professionals. His father was a lawyer his mother was a veterinarian. Aleister was brought up in a large attractive home in the suburb of Tuxedo where all successful people in Winnipeg resided. Aleister loved both his parents, but soon discovered that they didn’t agree on very many issues and often had heated verbal arguments. When Aleister was just a young child he was very upset about his parents so-called disagreements. He was worried that one day they would divorce and would no longer look after him. Eventually his parents did divorce, shortly after Aleister’s fourteenth birthday. It was almost a relief for him when his parents finally went through with the divorce. As it says in the Bible, “What I have feared has come upon me,” a rough paraphrase from the book of Job, Aleister felt very insecure despite the fact that he lived a somewhat of a privilege childhood. He had a beautiful spacious bedroom all to himself. He always got the newest and coolest toys. Both his parents treated him well, but he was scared when they had fights.

So what did his parents Hugh and Deborah fight about? It was not one of the most common issues many couples argue about such as money and sex. His parents thought they were doing very well in both these areas.Their arguments were more about intellectual, political and religious issues.

Hugh Richter considered himself to be a very intelligent man who believed in God, was trying to live a good moral lifestyle and as a rational conservative thinker.

Many of Hugh’s disagreements with his wife were over political issues. Although they had both lived in Canada for several years, they both had spent their developmental years living in different cities in the United States. Hugh had grown up in Houston, Texas and Deborah’s formative years were spent in Portland, Oregon. Hugh’s parents were both committed Republicans and were devoted to their local Baptist Church. Growing up in Portland Oregon, Deborah’s parents were liberals, tried-and-true Democrats who believed that Bill Clinton was the best president that the United States ever had. When it came to questions of religion and spirituality, Deborah’s parents were basically atheists, although they would occasionally take up an interest in new age teachings. They would tend to follow the latest flavour of the month as their newest guru, but their pattern was to move on to a new spiritual movement leader as soon as they got tired of the previous one.

In the 2016 presidential election, Hugh had some personal reservations about Donald Trump but still voted for him. He would’ve preferred Ted Cruze as the Republican party nominee, but he accepted the fact that the Republicans chose Donald Trump as their leader.

Donald Trump was sort of an acquired taste for Hugh. There were many things he admired about Trump, especially his self-confidence and determination to get things done. He was not completely convinced that Trump was a committed Christian, but he was delighted to hear his candidate espouse many Christian values and beliefs and appeared to be a staunch supporter of the church and Israel.

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Episodes 23 and 24 of Street Dreams

Episode 23

Harold hadn’t been away from his house for at least two weeks.  Life could be very lonely for a senior citizen who was divorced from his wife and had a stepson that was in and out of prison.  His two biological children who he had with Clarissa had their own lives now.  They both relocated to the United States a few years ago.  Harold’s biological son and daughter had not approved of Harold’s marriage to Clarissa and they had never liked their stepbrother, Ricky.  Harold’s two biological children, Derek and Jasmine, had little in common with Ricky.  Although Clarissa’s divorce from Harold was painful, they turned out to be well-adjusted kids.  Most of their friends’ parents were also living apart so they both had several peers with which they could commiserate.  Despite the tension between Harold and Clarissa, his children lived relatively stable lives as adults.  Jasmine and Derek were very smart and were on the honour roles while they attended high school.  Although they had some knowledge of how unstable Ricky’s life had been and heard that he had been badly mistreated by his biological father, they were unable to relate to him on any level.  Derek and Jasmine did not know the true extent of abuse that Ricky had suffered at the hands of his real father, Tim Kramer.

Tim was an angry, violent man who hated every aspect of his life.  He been laid off by a company that he had been loyal to for over ten years.  Then, out of the blue, Tim was informed that his services were no longer required.  Tim had worked hard at the iron foundry as an iron grinder.  He had good reason to be upset.  It was simply a bottom- line issue with his former employer.  They had not been making much of a profit during the last five years and during the last two years the plant had been losing money.  The company was more than happy to be bought out by a competitor who thought that they could turn the foundry around and start making it a profitable enterprise. It was all business and politics, two things that were totally out of Tim’s control.

Episode 24:

It was Friday afternoon around one PM, when Harold and Whisper arrived at the Grunge.    There was a light snowfall, but the temperature was still relatively warm for November.  Harold’s long silver mane of hair was blown around by the wind.  He had to be careful when he exited his car.  He almost slipped on a small icy patch as he was dismounting from his Ford Taurus. Harold had been using a cane for the last three weeks as the osteoarthritis in his left knee was causing him severe pain.  He did not like having to use a cane as he thought it made him look old and disabled.  Harold was very young at heart and had a hard time picturing himself as an old man. It did not fit with the way he envisioned himself.  Even at age sixty-five, he thought of himself as being very cool and many of his students would agree with his self -assessment.  Harold also regarded himself as being an artist and he was.  After all, he was a published author and his teaching style was more like performance art. If Harold Peyton had to use a cane to aid with his mobility, it would have to be more like a walking stick that was conguent his self-image.

He had recently been looking for bargains at an estate sale when he spotted exactly what he was looking for.  In the left corner of the immaculate house where the estate sale was held, Harold’s eyes focused on a white walking stick which.   had the shape of a black Labrador retriever carved into its handle.

Harold was approached by a man that appeared to be in his early forties.

“I noticed that you’ve been looking at that cane for several minutes, sir.  It had been my father’s favourite walking stick.”

Harold was quite startled as the young man approached him and he trembled slightly.

“I’m sorry to have scared you,” the young man said as he took a few steps back.

“That’s all right,” Harold said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “It’s just that your father’s walking stick is so beautiful.”

“My dad had an appreciation for fine art.  He was especially fond of that walking stick as the handle was a tribute to his deceased dog, Tyrone.  My God, he loved that dog.  He cried for three days when it was finally time to put Tyrone down,” the son of the deceased man said.

“My father was an excellent artist.  He excelled at oil paintings.  I have a few of his canvases on display if you are at all interested.”

“I love art too,” Harold said as he ran his fingers over the finely detailed texture of the white walking stick.

“While browsing your father’s collection, I viewed all the paintings that I would like to have in my home, but I’m wondering if I even have enough money to pay for the walking stick.”  Harold said.

“The young man was of medium build and had well-groomed curly brown hair.  I understand sir and am willing to make you a very reasonable offer on the walking stick.  If my father were still alive, he would surely want a man like you to have it.” he said.  Does two hundred dollars sound fair to you, sir?”

“Yes, I can afford that amount,” Harold said as he reached for his old leather wallet.  He had brought $275 with him to the estate sale.  Harold handed the son ten $20 bills.  Both men proceeded to shake hands on the deal.

“This beautiful walking stick is now yours, sir.  If my father is looking down from heaven, he will have a big smile on his face, knowing that I sold it to a gentleman with such impeccable taste,” the young man said.

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Painting Cars Part Two

Painting Cars Part Two

I turned to one of my little pals, Chucky.  Chucky was a cute little five-year-old with blonde hair and a buzz cut.

“Hey, Chucky, look what I found in the bushes,  An open can of white paint and a piece of board that we can use like a brush,”

 

“That’s cool.  What are you going to do with it?”  Chucky asked with a quizzical look on his face.  My little buddy probably hadn’t washed his face in about a week.  You could almost see a film of dark grey covering his face.

 

“See that red Ford Thunderbird just off to my left?” I asked

“Yeah, it’s a beauty,” Chucky replied.

“It is indeed a beauty, but you know what it’s missing?”

“What?”  Chucky asked.

“It needs a little white stripe along both sides of the car,” I said.

“Yeah, it would probably make the car look even cooler,” Chucky said.  He was starting to shift and shuffle his feet.  You’re not thinking what I’m thinking are you?  Chucky asked.

“Well, we’ve got the equipment. We’d be doing the guy who owns the car a big favour,” I said.  “Chucky, look in the bush and see if you can find another piece of wood that we can paint with.”

Chucky started to sort through the brambles when he spotted the handle of a small brush under a large rock.  He lifted the rock up and pulled out had a dried- out paint brush. It still had partly solidified yellow paint on it. Chucky shared his find with me.

“An actual paint brush, that’s even better as it has some yellow dried out paint on it.  All we need to do is find some water to loosen up the paint on the brush,” I said.

Chucky and I looked across the back lane and spotted a waterspout attached to the apartment building. In a couple of minutes, we had a suitably wet paint brush.

“You know something, Chucky?  The yellow paint on the brush probably means that there’s still a can of yellow paint somewhere close to where you found the brush,” I said.  In less than a minute Chucky and I were stomping through the twigs, branches and discarded garbage in the thicket.  Our diligent search paid off.  Covered by several copies of old newspapers was a small can of yellow paint. The paint in the can was hard. It had mostly solidified.

“How about if I paint the Plymouth and you work on the Ford Thunderbird?” Chucky suggested.

“That sounds like a plan to me,” I said as I proceeded to dunk my wooden stick into the container of white paint.  Chucky did the same with his yellow paint can.  It took most of my strength to loosen up the dried out white paint until I got to about the midpoint on my broken piece of wood.  Although the paint was a bit waxy, I was able to make a somewhat horizontal white strip along the passenger side of the Ford Thunderbird.  Chucky was a little more creative with his handiwork than I was.  He started to make several different designs on the blue Plymouth.  As I took a short break from my painting job.  I walked over to check the car that Chucky was working on to examine his work. In a few short minutes, he had painted a symbol of a star, the moon and his initials, CB.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?”  Chucky asked.

“Oh yes, the Plymouth looks so much better now.  I wonder if the owners will pay us for this?”  I wondered.

“Yeah, maybe the owners will give us five dollars each,” Chucky replied.

“After they pay us, let’s go over to Clancy’s Corner Store and buy some football cards,” I said.

In the nineteen fifties, you could buy a pack of CFL football cards that came with a stick of pink gum.  My buddies and I had a lot of fun.  both collecting and trading these cards.

Just as we were finishing our conversation, a young woman who was still in her housecoat and curlers ran out of the apartment building’s back door.  She started yelling at us, “What do you little brats think that you’re doing?  My husband just bought that new Ford Thunderbird last Thursday and now you’ve ruined it.  I’m calling the police,” she said as she stomped back to the apartment block.

Chucky and I just froze in our spots. We immediately turned around and took off down the back lane so fast that we were almost tripping over our own feet.  When I made it to my house, my grandmother met me at the door. “I see white paint stains on your hands and on your T-shirt.  Where have you been young man, and just what have you been up to?  Where did all these white paint stains come from?” my grandmother asked.

“My grandmother was a very imposing woman and had a very stern look on her face.

“Chucky and I found an open can of paint in the back lane and started playing around with it,” I said, as my face was starting to turn a deep shade of red.  My grandmother looked very suspicious, but seemed to be giving me the benefit of the doubt. A few minutes later, my grandmother, known in the neighborhood as Bapi, was visited by a young man who was one of our neighbours from the apartment block.  He was an office clerk about twenty-five years old.  His face was beet red and he had tears flowing down his cheeks.  He was so distraught that he was stuttering and stumbling over his own words.  All my grandmother could make out of his rambling speech were a few keywords and phrases such as ‘your kid’ and ‘painting my brand-new car with an ugly white stripe’. Bapi also could hear the perplexed young man yell loudly, “Who’s going to pay to get my car fixed?”

When my grandmother stared at the young man she heard a car door slam across the street.  By looking passed the man’s right shoulder, she could see two police officers approaching our house.

 

“How are you today, ma’am?” the older police constable asked politely.

With great trepidation, my grandmother asked. “What’s wrong, officer?”

A younger constable climbed up one more step leading to my grandmother’s front porch.  “We had a report that your grandson and some of his little friends were vandalizing some cars this afternoon.”

“Yes,” added the older constable with the grey hair, “the boys began applying paint to this man’s Ford Thunderbird and one Plymouth belonging to one of his neighbours.”

Shortly after, another car pulled up.  This time it was my parents.  My grandmother was trying to tell them what the police officers had just said.  The police constables informed them that they were unable arrest such young children and told my parents to discipline me as they saw fit.  And believe me, my parents did just that.  One at a time, they took turns giving me a very hard spanking.

After the third spanking, it was over.  My bottom was now a bright shade of red, I still wondered what I had done to deserve such severe punishment. I was still surprised that the young man who stopped at our front door wasn’t going to pay me for the beautiful white stripe that I had painted on his new red Ford Mustang.images-81

School Days Episode 3 Painting Cars

School Days.  Episode Three Painting Cars.

When I was five years old, I had a small group of friends that I hung out with.  At that time, I was living with my parents and my grandparents on Hargrave Street. Like most kids of that era, we were always looking for cool things to do.  As the only form of technology that we had the 1950s was television and the radio, all of our group activities would have to come from our own resources. Sometimes we would learn a new game, such as hide and go seek that one of my little buddies would teach us.

One morning my little buddies and I were having a hard time coming up with something interesting to do.  In other words, we were bored. We decided to walk down the back lane to do some exploring in the hope that somebody would come up with a great idea.  Behind one apartment block was a parking lot.  It was not a modern parking lot like we would see today.  The lot was not paved, didn’t have yellow painted lines and consisted mostly of dirt, gravel and crabgrass. We could see four or five cars parked in the lot.  Cars made in the 1950s were a thing of beauty.  If anyone owns a custom model today, their automobiles are probably worth a lot of money. To the right of the parking lot was a thicket of bushes and trees.  Some people would throw their refuge and other discarded items into this area.

When I was five years old.  I already love cars.  Chrysler, Plymouth, Ford and Chevrolet made some awesome cars in those days.  I already owned a collection of miniature model cars that we called Dinky toys.  These small models were not made of plastic.  They were built from solid metal.  When I played with my toy cars, they could withstand a lot of punishment.  That must be why older folks today will often say, they don’t make them like they used to.  The actual cars that our parents drove were also built in the factory much sturdier and much more reliable than the cars we have today. The great thing about those old cars were that they didn’t all have the basic design like modern cards today.

When we watch cars drive down the street today, is often difficult to distinguish between a Honda Accord and a Ford Fusion.  Both these cars have the same basic body design despite being manufactured by different companies.  Not so with the Ford, Chrysler, Plymouth or Chevrolet from the 1950s.  These models of cars all came with their own unique design.  I was already dreaming of the day that I be old enough to own and drive my own car.

While I was almost salivating over a Ford Thunderbird in the parking lot, I noticed an open can of white paint.  Next to it was a broken off piece of board approximately the size of a 12 inch ruler.   The piece of wood had jagged edges from where it was broken off.  I picked up the wooden stick in one hand and grasped the ring handle of the white paint can. A great idea darted across my mind.  Wouldn’t the Ford Thunderbird to my left look great with a wide horizontal strip of white paint right across the side of it?

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