As I write this, I’m walking through the desert near my home in Idaho, where I’ve spent my life and which my grandparents moved here from when I was a baby.
The desert is a beautiful place, and the road here has a nice little turnoff that leads me to a parking lot with a large, shiny red truck that sits at the end of the driveway.
I walk in and the driver is very nice and has me in a room with him.
The driver and I talk about the car, about my dad’s first car and my mom’s second car, and about the way they both used to drive.
I ask him about the smell, and he tells me about the heat and the way it felt when I first got it.
He talks about the time he and his girlfriend got caught speeding in his second car and spent the night in jail.
He says the smell is probably because the car is running on its last gas.
We sit down and he starts talking about how he has his daughter with him now and how he loves driving her, and I can’t help but think about the many times he’s tried to sell the car in the past, how he had to tell her, “You don’t want this, but I’ll give you this.”
This guy drives a second car every day, and so I ask, “How can I get a second hand car to get me out of a jam?”
He says he knows a lot about that, but he won’t talk about it for a few reasons.
First, he wants to avoid a lot of hassle, which means he’s not going to get into trouble.
Second, he has no interest in selling the car.
“You can’t just sell a car,” he says.
He doesn’t care about the buyer or the price, he just wants to drive the car as often as possible.
He also wants to protect his reputation.
He’s willing to put his name on a car to prove it’s the real thing.
If the car doesn’t sell, he says, he’s willing if he has to buy it.
I’m not sure I understand why that would be a bad idea.
He looks at me with pity and I think for a moment, but then I think that maybe it’s because he doesn’t have to get his name in there.
Maybe he’s so good at selling that he can get away with it.
But he’s a guy who knows that if you sell a big, flashy car, he doesn´t want to know anything about it.
The car has a lot to do with that.
The engine is old, and most of the parts are junk.
The wheels and tires are new, and they are expensive.
He does not want to see the car that is supposed to be his.
I tell him, “I just want to get out of the jam.”
I tell the driver that I’ll be driving it for awhile and then ask him what he thinks of my plan.
He tells me that he’s very impressed with my plan and that I should just get rid of the car and not worry about it any more.
“I’ll drive it for another year or two and then I’ll sell it,” he said.
I told him that’s not what I had in mind.
“No, I have no intention of selling it,” I told them.
“Then why not?” he said, still smiling.
“Because I don’t know you well enough to be able to know that,” I said.
He said that was true.
He had no reason to know me at all, other than my being in his family.
“Well, I don´t care,” I replied.
“How about I tell you how much I love you, my baby?” he asked, trying to sound friendly.
“Oh, I love ya, too, dude,” I answered.
He gave me a hug and then walked away.
He didn’t care that I told the driver what I was going to do.
He just didn’t know.
I thought about it a little bit more, and then decided to tell the person who sold the car I wanted to sell it to him.
“That would be nice, but don’t let anyone else see that,” he told me.
“But you’re not going anywhere,” I informed him.
I said that I would sell it and he agreed.
Then I asked the driver if he would like to drive it.
“It would be great,” he replied.
I walked back out of his driveway and headed out the back.
A few minutes later, I saw a sign on the highway that said, “NO REFUNDS.”
I asked him what that meant.
He told me he had no idea what that means.
“This is my car,” I explained.
“If I wanted you to come back later, it would be my fault if I didn’t,” he insisted.
I gave him the car for the rest of