Top Down

I strolled down the block to the open-air market and slipped beneath the striped awnings where the crowd was thickest. On a sun-baked wooden trestle table sat a faded turquoise die-cast convertible with the roof folded down. Naturally, I hitched myself up the chrome bumper. The cream vinyl bench had soaked up just enough midday heat to feel thoroughly hospitable. I slid behind the steering wheel, propped one bony elbow along the painted door sill, and adjusted the side mirror with a knuckle. Below the table, shoppers were haggling over chipped saucers and rusty keys. Dreadfully frantic. Up here, it was strictly a scenic coastal cruise.