Never being good at pen art, I had still taken a shot at drawing my dream car. A car that wanted to look German, but with my jagged non-straight lines, had looked more like Andy Warhol's pop art than anything to do with motion engineering.
He had clapped, jeered, laughed and shrieked maniacally - as he had run around showing everyone how great the paper car was. He had called it his Veyron, forgetting that such a name could have only meant a French origin from the WWII and had very little German colors to it. But then, he had never cared enough for Geography. I remember thinking in that fragmented instance - would I do a redux of this, even if the actual key fob landed in my hands? I remember a faint ironic smile pursed under my lips as I had marveled at the clarity of this tiny almost Machiavellian spirit. He seemed to be able to dance, with both the Devil and the Gods...anyone who could match his step was his able partner in crime.
Years have passed. As Floyd would say, "The child has grown, the dream is gone" and yet....as I held and meditated on the frail piece of paper today morning, I swear on my living breath, that I indeed saw the wheels moving. I distinctly heard the V6 (it was not a Veyron for me!!) growl in its naturally aspirated drone.
The car was driving away fast, oblivious to me staring at it hazily....and it was He who was in the drivers seat.