By Mary Li
Randy is taking me out today. He’s one of the salesmen, and his hair loops up on his head in a perfect, gelled curlicue. His ass is heavy, his breath a cloud of coffee and aspirin. He always brakes before he sets the tires right, grinding rubber.
But I’m not complaining. Hardly anyone bothers to pull me out of the lot anymore. The used car dealer became a new car dealer, and the sign went from Frank’s Used Auto to Francis Chevy Buick. I saw Vicky and Mustang go to new homes in their big inventory closeout sale, before they remodeled the showroom with marble floors and Keurig coffee makers. They haven’t liquidated me yet.