I had a blowout on the Pulaski Skyway today. I think that makes me a hero in a Bruce Springsteen song. Something cut a two-inch slice out of my left rear tire. And then I had to drive on the tire for about four miles, because stopping on the Pulaski Skyway, where there are no shoulders, is about as healthy as jumping from the Pulaski Skyway onto the traffic/swamp/waterway below.
So pulling off the first exit in Newark I found a gas station and not ninety seconds later a lady pulled in behind me with exactly the same injury to her car.
In my mind, of course, it was flak from German 88's that blew a hole in my tire. I think that makes me actually delusional rather than the charming idiosyncratic I try to be.
Hipster puppies. Because. You know. Puppies.
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