The Red Bus of My Youth
My parents used to propel an ancient red hippie bus that is the house of some of my fondest memories. It couldn't constitute it up a hill without shaking, and I reckon it would have fallen apart if my dad hadn't kept fixing it with string and bailing wire. It never looked clean, much with a couple coats of automobile polish. And when we were really driving it I was constantly embarrassed by it. However immediately it's ingrained in my reminiscence, somehow symbolic of an idyllic childhood.
Tags: | rants | travel diary | ramblings |
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