The Wreck of the Old 89

Our ’89 Buick Century, that is. A very sweet car despite its age. Livia and I were sitting peacefully at a red light this morning when the vehicle coming along the highway behind us slammed into us at high speed. We’re both shaken up, bumps and bruises and sprained knees, but apparently nothing serious. Livia started to get sick from the heat, but the firefighters who responded to the accident invited her to sit in the fire truck, which was air-conditioned. She started feeling better fairly quickly.

The rear end of the Buick is very messed up, of course. We’re both glad the gas tank didn’t explode. At this point we have no idea if the car can be repaired or is a total loss. We’re hoping it can be repaired because the engine runs great and it gets extremely good gas mileage. So we’re thankful nobody was badly hurt and royally frustrated because of all the hassle involved. But Livia got to sit in a fire truck and in a police car, and I got to sit in the back seat of the police car like a perp. It was all I could do not to start humming, “Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do . . .”