Chitty Chitty, Etc.

ISSUE #5

Picture this: It's too late to go out. It's one of those Friday nights where you had nothing, so you just rewatched Clueless. You're a little disappointed. Then, you hear a sputtering engine from the street, the waves of the past lapping our postmodern shores. Split the venetian blinds with you finger, and I'm in the yard in a 1966 Cadillac Fleetwood.

"Get in, loser," I shout. The chiaroscuro is straight-up nasty, charcoal night covers half my body. Is this a Chris Van Allsburg book? You get in, I crack my knuckles. We back out into the street.

I hand you a Coors Banquet. "Did you know Chitty Chitty Bang Bang turns fifty this year?" You shake your head. I laugh, one of those "ha-HA's" where the first half is really just locking-and-loading for the second, the true expulsion. I turn to you in mirth, my eyes the yolk-yellow of an American Werewolf. I'm wearing my old purple letterman jacket.

"You're gonna love this," I shout over the roar of the engine. That guitar line hits two minutes into "Dive," and I turn it up as loud as it can go. I put the top down, the wheels leave the pavement. We're off.

We crest the tree-line. Soon, we're hundreds of feet above the city — the stars, our traffic lights; the highways below, our electric veins.

Just sit back and listen, enjoy the view. I'll have you back before morning!

With love,

Jeff