Ever since I rolled my Jeep my vehicle situation has been touch and go. Originally, my plan had been to come back to Colorado to regroup, heal, stack some bread, get a new whip and then bounce. In and out, quick and easy. Ha. So now, like 8 months later I am finally close to completing this plan. I’m all healed up, broken bones and bruised ego no longer an issue. I’m as regrouped as I’ll ever be. As far as stacking bread, that’s a day to day thing and really I just need to worry about this the last week or two, right before I jet. The first couple months I had enough money to buy a whip 10 times and every time I pissed away the money at the casino. My circumstances aloud my priorities to get a little skewed and getting a whip took a backseat to playing captain save-a-hoe. Once I had a little reality check I managed to acquire a Ford Explorer from my homegirl. It was beat up but she had balls and with the proper attention she would have been a decent ship. Hard to say how many miles I would get out of the explorer because I never got to fix her up like I had wanted to do. One day I was on the deck smoking a cigarette and looking around I noticed that my truck was gone. My first assumption was that the property management had towed my truck for whatever reason. After a phone call and a little investigation we discovered that my truck hadn’t been towed that in fact it had been stolen right out from under my nose. The explorer was fucked. The steering column was all torn up from where my homegirl and her daughter had tried to get it started with keys missing the little chip that newer car keys have to have. Shifting it into gear required you to stick you fingers inside the column and manually move the broken lever from park to reverse/drive. It was not an easy car to steal and with it’s beat up condition and all of the much more appealing cars surrounding it, my truck made no sense to steal. Not unless you had the keys. When I first got the truck I only got the one set of keys because my homegirls daughter had the others and her dude was some kind of controlling douche so to avoid trouble I didn’t really think twice. The plates on the explorer were good for almost a full year and since I have no license and I’m apparently a cheapskate I never bothered to reregister the truck, leaving it in my homegirls daughters name instead. The girls a gangster so I didn’t imagine there being an issue. I mean not until she stole my whip. As soon as I realized that my truck hadn’t been towed I immediately knew that my homegirls daughter jacked it. I called my homegirl and before I was even able to accuse her daughter she said, “Kayla, that little bitch.” I had the title in my possession and so one idea was to hurry over to the DMV, reregister it in my chicks name and then report it stolen. I don’t call the police. Plus the truck was fucked up, it had busted wheel bearings which I had been waiting to arrive in the mail so I could replace them and it they stole it and drove it all over probably fucking up God knows what else. I foresaw more problems then it was gonna be worth to try and recover it so my plan was to find out wherever it was and go over there in the middle of the night and toss a firebomb through the window, I’m still not quite against this idea. Anyways before I could carry out my plan of fiery destruction, saving me from all kinds of trouble and avoiding the numerous consequences that were sure to arise, I stopped over by my homeboy’s place to get some money he owed me, only $60. When I walked in he handed me $40 and a pile of papers. A few weeks prior he had tried to trade me his truck for a few ounces of weed. I agreed but he got cold feet and we never made the trade. This time as I walked into his spot he said to me, “I want to give you my truck, this time I won’t renig.” Included in the papers he’d handed me were a bill of sale and the title for the truck. I’d driven my chicks car over there so I told him I’d come back the following day and get the truck, figuring I’d give him a chance to again change his mind. Showing up the following day he asked me,”Are you here to get the truck?” I’ve had it ever since. My fucking parents never gave me a vehicle. Jesse has. And it’s not just some lemon piece of shit. It’s old, granted, but it’s basically had one owner(Jesse’s grandpa) and it was well maintained. It’s a 1993 Ford F150 and it only had 144,000 miles on it. I’ve seen cars 15 years younger with more miles. It’s got a V6 which helps me on gas vs a V8 and it’s got 2 gas tanks. It’s not the prettiest truck you’ll see being red and having 30 years of bumper stickers and wear and tear, but I just so happen to be a beast when it comes to white trash auto body repair, so just wait. I’ve already put about 4000 miles on it and as far as I can tell the only problems it has are some front suspension issues which I’m fixing right now, or at least trying to. This might actually be the time to swallow my pride and just take it to a professional. Once the suspension issue is taken care of, as long as I continue to maintain fluids and filters, I can easily foresee me getting another 150000 miles out of her, easily. She will definitely get me back out to the coast, which I think is where I’m trying to go. I no longer have any friends out there but looking back I guess I didn’t really have any when I went out there the last time. That’s probably not true. I tend to overlook a lot of my blessing when I am depressed and my depression has gotten so bad it’s all I can do just to not swan dive off the top of the casino parking garage.