I had just turned sixteen. Understandably, I was eager to get my driver’s license; it’s no fun trying to arrange a date night by way of the local transit schedule. Greatly to my distress, my father put a damper on my mobility aspirations by pointing out that the cost of insuring a sixteen-year-old male as an occasional driver of the family vehicle was well beyond his means. I was welcome to get a part-time job after school and pay the cost myself if driving was all that important to me.
Well, driving wasn’t, but grousing was.

.jpg)

.jpg)


.jpg)

.jpg)

.jpg)




.jpg)

.jpg)




.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)




.jpg)

.jpg)


.jpg)

.jpg)

.jpg)




.jpg)

.jpg)



