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Driving Needs I confess, it was fear. The plated metal skins, chrome grates, and the swept curves of hoods and trunks gave premonitions of deep-crumpled-forced folds and gashes . I saw the ridges on the wheel would eat my fingertips and make me turn without will. The mirror was designed to look behind at the monsters chewing at my bumper and revving up a radiator anger at my slow speed, weak spleen, and need to hug the outside of the lane. I saw the failure of my instinct and it shrank my need to drive until I could not survive with the little me squashed by the sureness that a safety belt was not enough to keep other driver’s children safe from my inexperience. I learned to make fenders and bumpers around my resolve. I put my hazards on, my foot down and made the road my own. |
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