I needed a car, but I couldn't afford a new one. So I went to Honest John, the used car dealer. He told me he had a great buy. The car was only two years old, a mere teenager in car years. He had named it Lolita. It just needed a paint job. I ordered a silver gray color. It came out a neon pink. "How did that happen?" The shop owner shows me the order. It says, "Neon pink." Am I losing my mind? I drive off in my neon pink floozy. I turn on the radio, but instead of golden oldies, I Lget rap. I turn back to golden oldies. The radio goes back to rap. This battle goes o n for five minutes. I lose. We come to a stop light. She flirts with the hot rod next to us. she beeps her horn, she revs her motor; she bats her headlights. Talk about raging hormones. I trade her in for a geezermobile, aka an Oldsmobile, two sofas on wheels. I turn on the radio. The sounds of Lawrence Welk come wafting over the airways. But that's not the last of Lolita. She beeps into my life once more; this time she brings someone else with her. Someone my age.
