I remember the first time I saw one of these babies:
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It was in the Harmon's parking lot and I thought it looked like a glorified hearse. I still do. But after a few years of seeing these things roam the street I've come to associate them with something different entirely: money.
You can't deny that those bad boys scream of fame and fortune. Starting with the nice little branding on the front, everything about these cars is sleek. They probably have bullet-proof windows and heated gas pedals. You know the upkeep is insane. Gas milage is probably close to zero, and I'm sure they only take gas from the core of the earth.
Each time I see one these babies making its way around town I feel totally intimidated, like I just found myself if the vast halls of Downton and realized that I'm Daisy, not Lady Mary.
So the other day when I saw a creamy escalade pass me by, you know, the ones that look like they have crushed pearls in the paint? I couldn't help but smile as the light turned red and I heard the tremendous squeak put out by its breaks.
It was a form of complete validation. Rich people have problems too.
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