After a rotten run of luck, my finiky DeLorean (which requires ridiculous amounts of pampering) treated me to a nice birthday surprise when I took it for a birthday spin the other day.
I was feeling pretty down when my 10-year old baby bushy nose pleco flipped a kidney on my birthday, instantly cutting my pleco collection in half. To one. A few short hours later I was slicing my fingers to ribbons with an x-acto knife. And maybe I can attribute that to my unstable condition, or maybe just a severe sugar low as I starve myself of candy before the launch of the Halloween Candy Oscars, but either way it was a crummy weekend that left me feeling down.
With the sun setting I hopped in the DeLorean and crossed my bloody, shredded fingers. The D started instantly and I rolled out into the road for the first time in months. I giddily (and nerdily) pumped my bleeding fist, sending a mist of red into the air.
As with all my little joyrides, I ended up at the conservation area at the end of my street, the same place I took photos last year. Feeling woozy from the blood loss, I pulled around the back to a desolate roadway.
Camera in hand I launched the door skyward and hopped out. Sun glinted off the body, oftentimes blinding me as I snapped a couple of pictures. A few onlookers gawked for a few seconds and it crossed my mind that perhaps it wasn't the DeLorean they were looking at but the blood gushing from my left hand.
A small group of hikers stopped and stared for a minute, and a faint "whoa" drifted across the grass. Like the sun, it was a nice distraction while it lasted. As dusk set it I drove home, jabbing the accelerator between shifts. I've always defended the 130 hp Peugeot Renault Volvo engine and again I was surprised at the amount of power underfoot.
Back at home, with skulls, cauldrons and severed heads in every room, reality set in and I bid my poor baby bushy nose pleco farewell.