Old is king

The flat tire made scratching noises underneath me. The sound it made when it rallied crosswise on the hard ground worked in opposite direction to the blood pressure medication.

The adherence of the roller seat that had let me floating above the hard cemented floor had turned into a wrestling match where the two of them fought to get the opportunity to serve. When two out of the four wheels lost its rubber strips and got stuck underneath the 4500 lbs Lincoln for the second time this old man lost his cool. Have I had a dumpster outside the garage it would definitely have ended up there. Have I had a train track it would have ended up there. Have I had a lake it would have ended up there.  

– This time the wood- and metal piece of shit was put in the corner against the wall awaiting a bonfire.

A modern red plastic thingy with six wheels , headrest and curves to die for was purchased. Lean and sleek with compartments along the sides it seduced me.

The plastic wheels stopped spinning after a week. They turned into squared shaped screw-nuts and my moderate weight of 190 lbs got it to bend and rest on the floor! If I placed a Muncie on my stomach before rolling under I broke ground before takeoff. That’s when I started ogling my old, un-bended, un-torched, un-thrown precious.

– It had carried engine blocks.
Scarred and unwieldy with sloping wheels it still leaned against the wall next to the lean, red, plastic, fancy one with molded handles. I turned Oldie. Ugly as shit but still straight. With a design inspired by brick stones but thick and raw.

Was at the home improvement store and bought a new set of wheels with rubber surface. They still existed, after thirty years, on the shelf. Apparatus wheels were the name. Boring name on boring, grey stuff that lead my thoughts to EKG-machines at the hospital.

Today I’m floating 5 inches of the floor. Silently and softly on my flying carpet from 1984. Only two wheels had to be replaced. The six-wheeler in red and black only lasted four months.