Delorean

Yesterday my cousin got his new car and he brought it over here to decorate our yard until he can buy plates and a muffler for it. He would've had to drive it past the police station to get it home and that wouldn't be such a good thing to get nailed, considering his family's reputation with the honorable police department (when a cruiser pulls up outside their house it's no big thing. "Oh look, honey. It's the police. Hey, Joe. How are the kids?" Last week Travis kicked the crap out of this other kid for calling his black friend a number of inapproprite names. I was proud that he stood up for him-we all were-but Travis can't beat the shit out of someone without an audience. That was his downfall). So I have a car sitting outside my bedroom window just taunting me, begging to be driven, at least to be started. It's a crap car right now, but with a little work it could actually be pretty sweet. It's a 1989 Firebird. It looks like a Dolorean (you know...from Back to the Future?) so last night I dreamed about this kid named Matt Dolorean who bought a Dolorean. Weird.