Oh, my sweet Radmobile, how I miss thee so! You, parked right beside my shiny new car, showing your supple seven seats and flexing your glistening hatchback, in the RMH parking lot. Does your new owner hold you so tenderly by the bottom of your worn, sticky from use, steering wheel? Does he give an internal chuckle at your painfully hot vinyl and cool fabric when he sits on your rod straight seats? Oh, Radmobile, so loved, does he enjoy the back windows that roll down fully, allowing for friend's of friends to puke with ease out the window of your moving form? Oh, my little Beast, you are still loved and we Wyvilles curse the day we sold you to those slimy agents of smelly, shoddy fix-ups, the used-car salesman. I miss you, mia bella machina. It is only in my dreams that we dare have another bittersweet encounter, allowing my fellow co-worker to again exclaim, "Alysia, what the hell are you stroking that car for?"