My friend Aaron was kind enough to share my blog on his Facebook page, so I wrote a 100-word ditty just for her. If you want one too, just share my blog between now and the end of Chinese New Year and lob a prompt at me.
His prompt: “An ode to the delorean car WITHOUT mentioning any time travel movies.”
Consider the Eighties.
It was a wild time, filled with big hair, bigger shoulder pads, and even bigger dreams. It was a decade that needed cars with legroom ample enough for those dreams. So a name was whispered into the night: DELOREAN.
Enter John DeLorean. World War II veteran. Son of immigrants. Heir to the American dream.
But the people of the Eighties were fickle, easily distracted by the latest hair metal record. So it was that the proud DeLorean was brought down by the scourge of its contemporaries: cocaine. Trafficking, to be specific.
It’s a hell of a drug.