Syd Barrett & his Pontiac Parisienne, ca. Autumn, 1969
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lost...
Pontiac parisienne, Lippincott St, Toronto, Ontario, Canada
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If you're an economist, you would likely expect that a huge recession would be good for me and my collection of badly-maintained, unpopular classic cars. Nothing could be further from the truth. My entire way of life depends on easy access to irresponsible amounts of credit, a healthy worldwide shipping system, and a stock market giving gaboons of cash to any idiot that walks in the door. The more likely someone is to just go buy a new car rather than fix their old car, the more likely it is that I’ll receive the old/broken car.
When it gets bad for me is precisely when it gets bad for everyone else. Suddenly, folks are taking the lease buyout. They’re replacing their Merc S600′s cracked windshield washer tank ($849) rather than just trading it in on a new one. And, as I’ve just explained to you, that means fewer cars on the market for me. Since there’s fewer cars, they’ll ask more money for them. Sort of a profit scheme, you see. We don’t want that to happen.
Unfortunately for me, the economy is giving every indication it’s about to take a massive turbo-shit (technical term.) That means that, unless I do something very quickly, I’m gonna have to buckle down and actually fix one of these cars rather than buying “new” ones for $200 and throwing them in the pile out back. Although – if you’re some kind of weird hippie/management advisor – it might sound self-affirming and exciting to actualize some of my to-do visualizations, it poses an immense risk. To society.
My “get around to it” pile has been growing steadily since mid-1994, and if I start cracking into these cars, then pure statistics says that some of them are gonna start running again. Which means you’ll have to deal with a blasted economic hell-scape in which your car is throwing a check engine light, cutting timing, and therefore unable to escape a 1969 Parisienne whose fueling system has been replaced with a woodgas reactor and whatever I could chop down in a public park before the Segway cops came. I’ll be sad when I run you down, but it’s really just economics: the supply of 60s Pontiac brake pads in my possession has been outstripped by my demand to get to work.
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@babydxhl - cont'd from here
Huffing, he screws his eyes shut. He breathes through his nose, trying his damnedest to get his temper under control. Yes, e v e r y t h i n g had gone to shit, but he'd tried to make sure nothing happened to the Pontiac. He knew, for a fact, that Tiffany loved the car more than she loved him. He's a little thankful that she still loved Nica more than the car, but Chucky had been always aware of the face he kind of played second fiddle to the vehicle.
After a little too long, he exhales and looks at Mary. "It's not just about the car, but if you're offering." He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. "It is ... was ... a 1960 Pontiac Parisienne, painted coronado red. Red body, white hard top. She'd debated having a convertible once, but she spends too much time on her hair to even think about risking that.
Chucky thinks a little bit more before, finally, sighing. "The one car should do ..." He hesitates for a moment, a laugh escaping him. "Although, I may need a place to crash depending on how she takes it."
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New whip: 86 Pontiac Parisienne Brougham
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