Following in Her Mother’s Treadmarks
On a dusty Friday evening, Lucia was driving a girlfriend home in an old beater Mustang. Her friend wanted to know more about cars, and Lucia was mid-lecture when another Mustang — a nicer, newer model — rolled to a stop beside them. The classic stoplight once over gave her pause. Something was off with this dude’s car. She rolled down her window, leaned over, and asked:
“What year is your car?” “‘79.”
“Those are ‘84 tail lights, you know.” “I know.”