Thrift-shop suit, Brill creamed hair, lighting a cigarette off his last.Okay so I'm on a soul searching, life examined, pick myself up journey. Writing things down in order to at least remember them if not figure them out. Hoping to reduce the ever-changing drug cocktail I choke down everyday. Grabbing at my bootstraps. While driving to my "quit smoking" class I am rear ended at a red light. these things occur with great frequency at the exact moment when one is at their most ill prepared. I'm okay and he's okay so we count ourselves lucky. He apologizes sincerely. I forgive him immediately despite the fact that he admits he was distracted with his cell phone. He really is sorry, I can tell. I respect when people own their fuck ups. My car is messed up though. Stupidly I think to myself this hunk of junk is Beyond even "Pimp My Ride". That television show where they cherry out some deserving shlump's bomb of a car. The car was crappy to begin with anyhow. But it worked, it was fine. It was Just ugly. There were tons of surfing stickers all over the back of the car that my daughters applied in an effort to make it cooler. The girls and I learned to surf and love everything about it, especially announcing we are surf chicks, from the back of our ride. Ironically a sticker that said "I love you man!" landed on the guilty party's windshield. It was facing in, right in front of the driver's seat. It was the first thing he saw after he hit me. We laughed about that a little while we waited for a cop. Then we separately paced around for awhile. He was talking on his phone. I was watching a man who was walking on the other side of the street.