Yesterday was the day. It came early. The man who randomly stopped in front of my house to ask about buying my Mustang came with his family to pay, inspect, and tow it away.
I cleaned off the dust and got it looking shiny. I placed sentimental items in the car like tiny memorial shrines. I pushed the car halfway out of the garage and waited for them to arrive.
It was already dark out, and the power was already off at the house. When they finally arrived, they took some time to re-inspect the car for rust and damage. There wasn't any to find.
He tried talking me down on price again a few more times, but I stood firm. As it turns out, I probably got robbed anyway. Depends on where you look... it's tough to place a value on such a thing. Shame I didn't do any research. It all happened so fast.
I cried openly as I handed over the keys and signed over the title. I counted the money a few times and stuck the fat wad of 100s in my pocket. I waited with them for the tow truck to arrive for another half hour or so fielding questions about the history of the car and myself. I explained how I didn't have time to, but I had intended to write a letter to the recipient of the car.
I made them promise to let me come visit the car. Funny how you can become so attached to something you basically ignored for the last 5-10 years. The old "you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone" song rings in my ears and echoes in my soul. I feel like I lost a family member. I may never really be able to explain it. I'm not quite sure I believe it happened yet.
I suppose tomorrow is the day the bank tries to foreclose on the house again. All that remains there aside from a few items I still want is a lot of garbage. The house looks like a disaster area crackhouse squat. At this point, I'll be happy when I don't have to step another foot onto the property.
My eyelids are heavy. That means it's time to sleep.