My car is far from a work of art. It’s huge and gray with a broken bumper and it’s nearly as old as I am. It’s also loud which would prevent me from sneaking out of the house if the opportunity ever presented itself.


Still, the radio works and it’s a standard. This is a good thing. For me, the unfortunate effect of driving a standard is that I feel like a Bond Girl on vacation. I am as cool, as beautiful and as nonchalent as any of those girls but I wear more clothing and have less death defying adventures. On a regular day, you can see me cruising around town with my pink rimless sunglasses, rocking out to the newest tunes on the teen station or sometimes the oldest tunes on the old people’s station.


I think it’s the wind that does it. I recently got my hair cut again, and when the wind pushes it wildly around… I feel like I am doing something awfully daring. In my mind, the main difference between me and those Bond Girls is that I have to continually move hair out of my face. Movie people are never bothered by hair in their eyes.

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