I started an off-the-cuff portrait of … my car. My 21-year-old Honda Civic was hauled away today, Friday, 9/16. The Hottest Car on Earth, it was a dark blue car without air. It looked disreputable–the “protective coating” the dealership was so excited about in 1995 had completely peeled, the paint was evaporating, and we never washed it anymore. I didn’t care what people thought of me in it. We couldn’t wait for it to die any longer and had bought its replacement. Suffice to say, if I had an extra place to park it, I would have kept driving it until it ran no more.
This photo is about half way through me trying to get the drawing right. Still not there. I’ve been looking at this car in this spot for 21 years, it has to scream “The Honda!”
I do get attached to my tools; we had its predecessor, the ’78 Honda Civic, for 17 years. I told the tow truck driver I wanted to watch him take the ’95 away, and he said that a lot of his tows are emotional ones. He recently towed a ’56 Mercedes that the owner had bought brand new. Can you imagine letting go of a 60-year-old car you’ve had your entire adult life?