A Chariot is like a car.
I like cars. Cars are awesome. Cars are way more West Coast than East Coast, and no amount of car club drivel aimed my way is going to make me change my mind. A car in California is like the (polluted) air we breathe– a necessity without which life, or at least good life, may not continue. Having more/better? public transportation around here, a car is just not nearly as necessary– it really just is not.
Public transportation is really wonderful, and I'm behind it; but a car is awesome and you can't take that away from the machine. May higher powers everywhere bless Karl Benz.
A car takes you places both figuratively and concretely; it denotes your status; it's an outward indicator of personality; it keeps you warm or cool as you travel; and it's a delightful repository of your crap.
It's also a great way to avoid walking everywhere.
Earlier today, someone was robbed at gunpoint of his car down the street from my house. I don't want to imagine how that could happen –especially in broad daylight– and I don't relish thinking what I would do were I very close to a gun and having to decide whether I'll risk flooring the gas and taking off with the kids (and maybe getting shot in the process?) or just exactly how I would relinquish ownership of my baby.
It's one of those terrifying events that don't seem real. Robbed at gunpoint. In daylight. Car, gone.
CAR. GONE.
It's a nightmare too terrible to fathom, at least in my mind.
Because a car is like your own self, but with a steel body and the ability to take loads of additional crap with you.
And it makes a vroom vroom sound.
Car. Gone.
A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm! 