Car shamed

I dreamed I was trading in my high-mileage car. As it happens, Nick Cave was there, in the the car lot, at the same time, and he wanted to buy my car. He made the decision without really looking it. The cracked plastic bumpers, front and rear. The two missing hub caps. The pushed in rusted fender. The tree-dented roof. The rejection sticker on the windshield.

I felt compelled to tell him that it sputters and hesitates climbing hills and during acceleration. The floor is covered in dried leaves and pine needles. I have a dirt driveway, I confessed. It hasn't been vacuumed in a year at least. And then I noticed his wife was there too. The beige seats are all stained, I explained. Beige was a bad choice of colors for an interior, even though I didn't have a choice. 

Let me have it detailed first. Let me take it to a mechanic.