Every day since moving here, on the 1st of January, Pacha and I have walked by a red convertible parked on our street in the very same place. It hasn’t moved in over 3 months. It’s registration is expired and tickets are regularly placed on it.
They don’t pile up more than two at a time. Someone is removing them. I find myself constantly perusing a series of questions in my mind:
Is someone paying for the these tickets? If not, why isn’t this car booted and towed? If so, that’s expensive. Why incur this cost? Can’t afford whatever repair is needed to pass inspection? Can’t get a friend to let you park the car in their driveway until you can save the money? If you can’t afford the maintenance of the car and it is now not even being used, why bother? Why perpetually take up a precious parking space in an urban neighborhood.
Until, finally, I get to, “what the hell does it matter to me? why am I wasting any energy even thinking about this? Surely I have more interesting or creative things to be pondering.”
And I move on. I don’t think about the car again until I see it the next time.
Rinse and repeat. Such an undisciplined mind is wasteful.