We’re in the black Dodge with red leather-looking seats and push-button drive.  No stick or three-on-the-tree.  We’ve always had a pretty cool, modern car, that’s one thing I can say.  But I think I’d rather have a stick or three-on-the-tree.  Since he ain’t allowed to operate a got-damn automobile anymore, because of his seizures, I’m behind the wheel, having recently acquired my Learner’s Permit—though I’ve been driving all over the place for a long time.  I started steering when I was five, on his lap, Sundays, with him covering the distance to the gas and brakes, offering an occasional instruction: Careful now…keep your hands apart, eye on the road…there you go. (read on…)