and when I left, I thought my car was making this horrible noise,
but no lights were on the dashboard so I ignored it .
And blamed it on the city.
A couple times, cars with guys in them passed and honked at me,
and I was all proud, cause, you know, I'm 50.
I had a dress on, my hair was braided, jewelry on;
I could still attract attention, so in my head I was singing "I'm 50, I'm pretty".
Then a huge dump truck pulled up,
and the guy leaned out and yelled "hey, you're -" I couldn't hear the rest.
but he pointed at the car.
Not me.
He pointed at the car.
So I pulled over.
Yup. Of course.
I had run over the orange cone that said "funeral home".
It was caught between my tire and the wheel well.
and I had driven, with it stuck there, all the way down to the bridge.
