Every night I would go outside and sleep in the car
. I'd put on my sweats that were cut off at the ends and too short, and my Scooby Doo socks
, and walk outside across the street from a house and sleep in there. I'd go back inside the house on a regular basis through the night, though, I'm not sure for what. It was best I sleep outside - at least there I could smoke cigarettes without bothering anyone
It was a special car, fully automated
. I didn't understand the controls, and it ended up resembling a scooter sometimes. The dashboard had all these controls, fully automated, and the car stopped and started purely by the tension of my muscles
. It took some getting used to, though, as I drove the streets of Boston
and the traffic sped by me too fast. All the cars were honking and I began to get paranoid, unable to move my car at any faster rate. "You're slouching," he said, and I sat up straight and began to get some speed.
I'm inside my parent's bedroom and there's a large stereo set upon a chair or table. I'm burning a CD of Frente!
, but my favorite song is missing. I remember it's in the other directory, but I can't find it, as I rummage through the assorted hairspray bottles and perfumes on the bathroom counter. I figure it's okay, and I set it aside, promising to finish it later