Oh, please, TeriAnn, don't throw me to the LR list. I have enough enemies
on the Volvo list. When one is in the proper frame of mind, the chassis
has just been greased, and selective deafness has been achieved during
many miles at the wheel, I am sure the difference between a Land Rover and
a Bentley is hardly noticable.
I would like one, but not because it is an ideal highway cruiser. I am
upfront about it--I would like one as an image builder. In my mind's
eye...
*******************************
Debra Winger fanned herself as she hung the laundry on the line. As she
pinned up the last of the wash, a dusty, battered Land Rover turned into
the drive. The throaty roar of its engine echoed from the side of the
barn. It rattled to a halt, coughed, backfired, and died. A man emerged.
He was sweaty and none too clean. Several Kodak instamatics hung from his
ample neck.
As he hobbled nearer, Debra thought, "His body seems soft, pale, wrinkled.
Plump and insistent, even though he must be over 50. Well over 50! Look
at him move...like a guernsey...no a holstein...no, no, that's not it,
like a lynx, that's it...a pregnant middle-aged lynx...or maybe a MERCURY
Lynx!"
"I'm Raybert Kingibbons," the stranger intoned, in a voice that could lure
doves from their cote, "may I take off my shirt? Dusty, battered Land
Rovers don't have air conditioning, and my paramilitary shirt is sticking
to my sagging pects."
Debra struggled to catch her breath. She couldn't have said whether it
was Kingibbons himself, the charismatic Land Rover, or exactly what, but
she had never felt quite like this before...
Ray Gibbons Dept. of Molecular Physiology & Biophysics
Univ. of Vermont College of Medicine, Burlington, VT
gibbons@northpole.med.uvm.edu (802) 656-8910
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