gas tank

Today I drove us to the library. I had a wonderful memoir to pick up--it was the last day they would keep it on the hold shelf for me. It's pure poetry, and I admire it--another memoir with food--The Language of Baklava by Diana Abu-Jaber.

But this is more rich and real a world--Toast was sort of dreamy and more fragmented. This is a vivid and complete world. Both are first-rate. (I want to be a memoir writer when I grow up.)

I had been worried about the truck because a couple weeks ago we notcied the gas cap on the asphalt, and that meant one of three things:

Someone had taken off the cap just to mess around, to siphon out gas, or to put something nasty in the gas tank, like sand or piss.

So I was a little worried, but it started fine. We filled it up and wanted to wash the thick dust from the windows, but there was no washer thingie in the soapy water containers, so we wet paper towels and washed the windshield that way.

And driving to the library and back, the truck ran beautifully, so I think nothing nasty was put into the gas tank. I'm so happy I have insuanace on it again because now when the SAT is finally over, I'll be free, and I want to go to Vedanta and pull weeds.