I bought a used car today. It’s more than half my age. I got it cheap. Found it in an ad in the paper. I wanted to get up and out early enough not to lose the car to another buyer. My alarm was set for 8am, but I was shifted awake by an earthquake a little after 6. Used to be that sort of thing would shoot me from my sheets. This morning I just stared at the crack in the open window, waiting to see if the rumble would be still or would the two story apartment be torn in half. Apparently, the couple in the apartments across the way were waiting too. Once we all decided that we’d live to our next cup of coffee, the couple continued with what they had going on while I’d been asleep. Her moans made me lonely and wish that the earthquake had crumbled one of our buildings down. Preferably, theirs. Later, I had that cup of coffee and wondered if she ever had hers. The old car seemed to disappoint those whom I shared its news with. The paint is faded, the windshield wipers are dry and cracked, the hood doesn’t close without slamming it hard and the fuel gauge is busted. I’ll have to get it repaired or I’ll always be counting my miles as I go. Wouldn’t matter too much, I’m used to counting my miles, as I count my lies and regrets. The old thing is resting in my driveway now. I intend to see it through, if it’ll do the same for me. It’s the least I can do for something so undeserving of a more sensible person’s love. The least I can do considering someone once loved me, much further than I deserved.