Stan had always loved his car. He thought it was bold, daring, creative, and, in his own words “the sort of thing that gets noticed in a crowd.” It had been his dad’s first, a rusty old thing that scarcely worked, but a few parts had seen to that. An artist friend and some cans of spray paint had seen to the rest. He’d paid that friend more money than he’d ever earned before: twelve dollars and a sandwich.
Then Stan had his car: a brave artistic statement. He was certain that it would open doors. Preferably, the doors of attractive women’s houses.
Sadly, it failed to meet his expectations. The large pink-lensed sunglasses didn’t seem to do the trick either and the goatee was very disappointing.
Still, even when he’d given up on those, he kept the car as it was. He liked it, even if nobody else did.
Word Count: 150
This is my entry for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and to S. Writings for the photo prompt.