Rain started coming down,
I heard it, and went downstairs into the garage and pulled the canvas cover off the BMW,
pulled it back and rubbed it down with a rag and brought back the lustre. In the corner on the bench were pliers and bolt cutters, pipe wrenches greased up and taking grime from a thousand tears and I pulled open the drawer, fondled the little jig saw and the socket wrenches, all chrome and clinking in the wood bottom drawer and I shut that, reached up on the panel above the work bench and took down a roll of black plastic electician's tape and pulled off a long strip. I cut the tape into small pieces and balled them up and threw them back on the work bench except for two I put over my eyes so I couldn't see.
Walked around the garage shop and put my hands on the BMW and said good bye to the old car that carried me up and away from that time when it was the same blue-grey color of her eyes and I blasted mountain curves and pealed on midnight pavement, screeched around those painful memories and finally, now, slam on the brakes and pry open my eyes and see something real.