A 65 Mercury Comet, four door, black with a white top, was my chariot of freedom.
School sucked. In second grade we had a phonics book. On the cover was a picture of a guy reading a book. On the cover of that book was the same picture and on and on and on. I wondered how far that went. Infinity? I asked the teacher. She rapped me on the head with a wooden ruler, calling me stupid. I was pretty much done with formal education at that point.
Home was cool. Had the basement to myself. I'd "borrowed" traffic cones from the city and bought a blacklight. A fluorescent poster, Dennis Hopper riding his Pan and flippin' the bone, was taped to the concrete block walls.
Vocational school saved me. Senior year I did a co-op thing. Went to school for a few hours in the AM then worked eight hours in the tool and die shop. I made spoon rings and ran drill presses, milling machines and a small lathe. Cool job. Did a bit of welding. Caught the fringe of my big bell Levis on fire! Sorta' looked like a cartoon I imagine.
A short girl with long black hair held my amorous attention. She spoke her mind. I liked that. Later, a sweet blonde that deserved better.
Jimi rode with me in the Comet. Driving to school I imagined he, Noel, and Mitch in the backseat as the eight track wailed away.
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