The truck is in for its annual inspection. The mechanic checked the tires.
Dry rot, all four. Le sigh. He picked out mid-range all-terrain: good fuel economy, nice tread, puts a dent in the piggybank but could be worse.
Then the next call comes, the one you dread with an 11 year old vehicle that’s seen some hard days. The horn doesn’t work—corroded contacts. Of course it’s not all that easy to get to. Part: nil, labor: don’t ask.
Oh, and that engine light? Yeah, that actually indicates a problem with the air intake. Major ka-ching.
Send chocolate. Send pics of truck porn.
I need something to cheer me up today.
About Nya Rawlyns
Crossing boundaries, taking no prisoners. Write what’s in your soul. It’s the bass beat, the heartbeat, the lyrics rude and true. Nya Rawlyns is the pseudonym of a writer who cut her teeth on sports-themed romantic comedy and historical romances before finding her true calling in the wilderness areas she has visited but calls “home” in that place that counts the most: the heart. She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or two pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
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Oh man. Roll on 2015. With a lottery win.