Fear and Loathing at the Curry Korner

After a breakup, you have this floatsy feeling. Like you're not sure what makes you tick, or where the hell your personality went.

Today, lured by the promise of steaming Indian food, I drove up
to Curry Korner between classes, head full of dal and samosas. I swung the Buick into what I thought was a fabulous parking spot, only to hear a disgusting grating sound as I turned my wheel.

They finally got me. Those sewer drains everyone kept telling me were lurking under curbs to annihilate my tires.

This one got a bite, a good one- chewed it clear through to the tread.

That's when the adrenaline hit, I waffled for a second, forgot about the chai tea, got in the car, and savagely applied the gas. No telling when this tire would blow, and I wasn't about to pay some asshole to tow me.

I found myself doing 30 on Elysian Fields, staring down every pothole defying it to try and pop my struggling tire.

It was a heinous display of pure grit and determination despite uncertain death or maiming by tire blowout- ME AT MY BEST.

And the $30 used replacement made me smile.