Among my mother’s group of Japanese friends, she was the only one that learned how to drive. I would sit the back seat of the driver’s training vehicle as she maneuvered around San Francisco to the exasperation of her instructor.
Ramblings while on a slow suburban death.
Hit and run is the new black
Published by Anna Pirhana on January 22, 2015On my second full solo outing with my husband’s Lexus, a charcoal grey car that he cherishes and cares for as a child, I had the misfortune of having some young punk’s motorcycle leave a giant dent followed by a trail of a long, deep scratch on the front end of his car.