remake/remodel

the chevy impala

This morning I was driving a Honda Civic, but it was hit, and now 1/3 of it is gone. Compressed into a fraction of its previous volume, actually, like a dead star. A frightening crunch, and then I’m parked in a flowerbed. Five minutes later, a cop’s shaking his head as the 2/3 Civic is rolled onto the bed of a wrecker truck. Now I’m driving a Chevy Impala. It’s about 1/3 larger, and thus balance is maintained in the universe. It drives like a tank, the lights don’t turn off until I pull out the keys, and the front seat is actually a sofa. I drive it and I imagine that I’m sixty-five. I hunch forward and crane my neck when I turn. I sit up in the seat and lean into the wheel. I squint and drive slowly because I’m afraid. There’s a pain in my neck and my back that doesn’t go away.