The other day I saw a Cadillac Escalade. It’s not necessarily a beautiful car; it’s just imposing in an elegant way, monstrous and self-aware.
It has a large sneering snout that makes it look like it’s constantly disgusted with the state of Kenyan roads.
If an Escalade were a woman, she would be a short, heavy, bleache
d in the face and very large around the hips, always wearing loud lipstick and short dresses that expose acres of her light thick legs.
She would be the kind of woman who turns everybody’s head.
Anyway, everybody (especially the women) stared at this car and its owne
r – a balding 40-something guy with a permanent smirk – who stared straight ahead in a phoney show of indifference.
I thought it was the most charismatic car I had seen in a while and as we inched along, all I could think of…
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