Welcome home old crow

Welcome home old crow. Or I guess, it's the other way around... Old crow  would say to me: "Welcome home, old Emily" (I imagine a bottle of old crow whisky sounding a bit course, and sloshy... because of the liquid naturally). Last night as I made my decent from Seattle to Portland, right at the part when the stewardess should be saying something along the lines of "and to your left is Mt. St Helens... thank you for blah blah blah  blah  please buckle your seat belt..." right about then, is when my car broke down in Ridgefield fucking Washington. It broke down on the main drag, you know that hot little joint right off the freeway? Oh you're not familiar with the Chevron gas station? You aren't? Gulp, that's um, cool (in an awkward judgmental tone). But seriously, I'll skip the juicy details, like the part when we had to role the car off the main road on to this sketchy gravel road behind the Chevron station, I'll skip the bacon too (ooh tough crowd, get it... juicy, bacon... it's been a long long two days). 

Today my car resided behind Chevron,  to  await its tow. I can only imagine the time laps film of my car shamelessly waiting. Shall we imagine it together? Ok, Go:

So ok we drive away, me glancing back anxiously, like a kid saying good bye to your parents on the first day of kindergarten. Tick tick tick person pees all over the hood... tick tick tick (oh and by the way the "tick tick tick" is how I envision time laps film noise) tick tick tick... a raccoon climbs underneath my car and goes to sleep.... tick tick tick... someone harpoons, or perhaps nets the raccoon and cooks it on the fire they built on the hood my car... tick tick tick teenagers having sex.. tick tick tick and the night goes on... and the night goes on... and the night goes on. Meanwhile I'm at home in my bed snuggled into my nest of blankets, dreaming about the time laps of my car sitting behind the Chevron.