The Black Mustang Parked Across From My Bike at the Train Station This Morning.
It’s impossible not to notice the giant decal on your rear window, a blue cursive admonishing all within your range to “Fear This.”
You’re an ’86 Ford Mustang. I remember your type from high school–the wealthy kids from the Jewish part of Greenlawn got the flashier and faster GT model, and the scrappier kids that smoked butts on the bus to Wilson Tech got the LX.
Well, Mr. LX, I parked my bike not five feet from you, and I must say–I’m not feeling the fear. A bit of amusement, perhaps, that someone would still drive around with a sticker that became uncool around the same time parachute pants and Spuds McKenzie did, but no, not fear.
If I were to approach you on the highway, I’d hardly retreat in fear; if anything, I’d speed up and pass you, maybe even toss a dismissive guffaw your way just to show I was not only unfearful, but actually was enjoying the moment.
As the saying goes, God is in the details, and your details, Black ’86 Mustang With No Fear Sticker, include a string of skulls hanging from the rear view mirror.
Sorry, still not feeling it.