A Love Letter.


Dear antique Ford Bronco that lives on the 1300 block of T Street, NW,

We’ve never met, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I live two blocks away, and on my walks home I often take your way in the chance that I might see you. What is it about you that attracts me!? Others dream of some sleek, fast, and flawless thing – but I’ve never been one for the obvious or fastidiously kempt. There’s something effortless and natural about your cool.




Sure, you’re rusty in some places and even bald in others, but I like you just the way you are. I love your broad, rugged construction. I love the studding above your tires more than I love the studded minidress Madonna wears in her ‘Celebration’ video. Is it strange that I feel a level of familiarity, even comfort with you, already? That when I need trees and quiet, you’d understand and take me onto gravel roads? And when I crave the city again, we’d return with leaves in my hair and dirt on your floor? I long to feel your weight, to know your sounds. I want to know your pedals and how they move against me. I could spend countless hours learning all there is to know about you. I want us to laugh often, take long drives together, and sleep under the stars!


You belong to another, they’ve made it clear (a Club possessively clutching your wheel like gripping arms). But I’ll still be watching, dreaming, hoping.



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