Look at the bright side....
Bright, dark.
Hot, cold.
Give, take.
Yin, yang.
Lots of great sex/occasional great sex.
All about perspective...
Do we look through the rose colored glasses, or smear them with chit, just to have right to complain about obstructed vision?
I have a dream.
A dream where, someday, the collection of Cruisers is complete and one of each of the classic series, 40,55,60,70,80 await me of a morn, beckoning to be chosen as steed for that day's journey.
These will be the finest of mares ('cause I don't want to mount a dude....especially one better equipped than I), devoid of rust, seeps, weeps and flawless in their physical beauty.
Beauty that none can deny, none will be capable of looking away, and all will hear the distinctive sound of the I6 pounding away, like Ron Jeremy on a midget, and know that it's as fine a machine as any that have driven the earth.
That's the dream.
I also have a reality.
In this reality, there are two rotted ass, needy Pigs that consume more than their fat asses are worth, by a hundred fold.
There's a 73 that sits in cryostasis, awaiting transformation to even a driveable pony status, the final beast a concoction unlike any known in NA, but as common as house flies on the rest of earth.
An LX 450, once a gorgeous specimen of the finest that OE has ever offered.....injured and put down, awaiting burial by a selfish master that can't see her go.
Then, a rare breed that can run, but with tattered coat from being put up wet too many times, a week heart, unappreciated, in the poverty pack 80, that deserves all the love Robbie can give her, after a complete frame off restoration, since 1 of 25, or so.
From dream to reality is commonly known as a nightmare.
Perhaps a necessary stage, but if one can lessen the depths of the mental hell by adding a specimen that needs so little, is gorgeous in every way that mechanical beauty can be defined, scratching an itch that should, being operative, preclude looking at any other....ever.
A catalyst, you might say, invigorating and exciting Tina point that I can toss away the chit smeared, rose colored glasses, throw caution to the wind, spray sunscreen on my bald ass head and let the 8 remaining hairs flow in the gas laden wind.
While, at first, the guilt of bedding another man's woman will be overwhelming, it'll subside and I'll enjoy the chit eating grin as I continue breaking her in, celebrated by witnessing the odometer roll past 100k, caressed by these hands.
