You wake up from a big nap and you go outside.  In your driveway is a bitching 96 Pontiac Grand Am in Forest Green.  Fuck yeah....  In your pockets is the keys to said car.

But you don't remember buying it.

You don't remember ever driving it.

You don't remember ever driving...

I find tooling around in the car a shit ton of fun.  

When I came to, I didn't have anything in my pockets, not a wallet or any keys.  Logan, my boss, gave me a place to stay, well, he doesn't live that close.  So I needed a ride.

I saved up my tips on but that Grand Am for $1200.  V6 baby!

So the fuel pump is messed up.  And the door is damaged.  And you can't roll down the driver side window.

It's still a car and it's mine.  For someone who really doesn't have anything, or at least anything I can remember, ownership of something is a pretty big deal.

I did have a panic attack the first time I started her up.

Fortunately, even though I can't remember my name, my muscle memory is strong enough that I can drive with no problems or hesitations.

My first roadtrip was with Roger down to Morgantown for the Backyard Brawl.  That night happened to be my first time driving hammered.

No arrests yet bitches...