Imaginary Circle

My neighbor just bought a new Audi. And don’t ask me if it’s a PQ7 or ST 5000 because I don’t know. It’s black and it’s shiny and it’s parked in front of my house. I stand in front of it and it is so shiny I can see myself. Not only can I see myself, but in my reflection I look like a super model. I am wearing a bikini and high heels; and my hair, which is suddenly full and wavy and also shiny, is blowing in the wind. I am saying: Do not, under any circumstances, fuck with me. In real life I am standing on the side-walk, in my jams, holding a bag of dog poop in one hand and a coffee in the other. I take a step in closer towards the other me. The beautiful round titties turn into pinwheels and she/I  says/say: Take one more step and I will suck you right in. I’ll suck you right in to my vagina like a giant hoover.

WHAT?

“Oh yeah... my new car. I got it yesterday.” My neighbor sneaks up behind me. I love my neighbor. We have lived next to each other for 10 years, have helped each other in the middle of the night. My kids walk into her house like it is their own. I have heard her having loud sex with her girlfriend on more than one occasion. And it’s fine. Whatever. Hey. But shit, this car. Enough is a goddam nough.

“It’s nice,” I say.

“Yeah”, she says, “You should get one”.

“Yeah, right”, I say. I try to imagine myself in such a car. I’d like to say I could imagine it easily but, in a million years, I still couldn’t. It's not my style. I don't-- you know--it's not me. “I'm getting a Maserati”, I say.
Of course you are, she says.
"I'm not kidding", I say. “If I’m going to say fuck you while I drive around, at least I want to say it with an Italian accent”. 

We have a chuckle. Then she goes her way. I go mine. Vaffanculo! I honestly, from all the truth in the bottom of my heart, could care less about cars. I mean I can appreciate one that looks nice, and I wish I had a clean one, but seriously, it’s a car. It doesn’t matter. But it’s weird in Los Angeles, it matters. Your car represents you. Someone explained it to me once like this: in other cities you have an imaginary circle around you that protects you in crowds, city streets, whatever. You let certain people into your circle, you let them get close if you want, but most of them you keep out; you still interact, but you keep most of them at a distance, even if it's just two feet. In LA, your imaginary circle is your car. So instead of relying on your manner to help you navigate social interactions you rely on things.

Is this too lofty? I don’t know. I think no matter where you are, your car represents you. So does the place you live. And your shoes. And your toothbrush. And your wallet. And the inside of your refrigerator. You just have to make sure all those things are in agreement.