The best you can say about some cars is that they give you a place to sit when you’re stuck in traffic. This one, though, a 1999 Toyota Corolla in gunmetal blue, felt like an excitement machine. To me, at least. No one driving the same model ever waved back.
I was living in Melbourne at the time, surrounded by brunch places, cultural elites, homeless people and all those other fruits of civilisation. The car sat outside as a constant reminder that we could say goodbye to all that whenever we wanted.
The roof lining sagged and brushed my head like an old friend. It’s true that the gearbox had been making noises even when I bought it, but since I didn’t have enough money left over to get it repaired, I solved the problem by fixing the radio instead.
One Saturday, I set off to visit a friend in Sydney. At first, there was the jubilation of leaving a city...
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