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'47 Chevy His sheet metal voice, his moves slick as the polished pickup, the idle set just over optimum, even in neutral the bed trembles, the tires urge along. Inside the cab, she does not imagine rubber sloughing away from belts, smoke wisping from exhaust pipes or the thick oil that slows the pistons' push into steel sleeves. After the long haul, she's still impatient to roll, to slip the gearshift tenderly into first, still liable to release the cranky pedal, ignore the gentle grinding that follows. Lulled by the compression crunch of gravel, she forgets to test drive, eases forward as the garage door shuts into one more night when she doesn’t see the skid coming. Or the breakdown. When she resolves once more the road to the coast will be plumb and a chamois tongue can be nothing but a joyride.
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