You get me. I didn’t know anyone could get that I see the car as alive. It protects me, Miguel. It loves me. I love it. It’s like ... a big, very ...aithful Golden Retriever.”“I really do understand,” Miguel insisted, “I can feel it, too. I really can.”Miguel expertly threaded the old, sluggish leviathan through the dense Houston traffic with the kind of expertise New York cabbies used to throw these things around dense Manhattan traffic. How he knew how to drive a big car through dense city. He slipped on his golf shirt and squeezed his feet into sports socks andtrainers. He stood up and closed in on me, looking me in the eye andseeing my disappointment."Hey don't worry Michele, maybe next time you can come."He grabbed my buttocks and squeezed them."Fuck you've got a great arse; next time we might go a bit further ifyou know what I mean," he laughed, slapping me on the buttocks andstriding out the room.I followed him down the stairs my heels clattering on the wooden treads.At the. More

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