So I went downtown earlier this week to meet up with a friend and former coworker who I haven’t spoken to in years. We had a great time catching up at this bar La Cita, next door to Grand Central Market in DTLA.
I parked at work this morning, got out of my car, locked it, and walked away. My car’s lock sounds like a small bird chirping. Then I heard an actual small bird chirp back at it.
In order to get the Z3 to the camp site, we had already driven about a quarter mile down a road that the car was never meant to go down. It was dusty, there were big rocks, and the small hill I had to crest to get off the main road and onto this path was so steep, I only saw sky staring back at me through the…
A note: this story originally appeared on my tumblr. But I’m putting it here too, because I wrote it and I can do that.
I gave a man a check for just under five digits about four months ago and walked away with the keys to a 1999 BMW Z3 Coupe with about 115,000 miles on the clock. It’s not the balls-out fast one. It’s the other one.