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A Day of Mourning… For the Bomb

I have received the sad news that my father sold the Orange Bomb, that classic of my teenage years. (We took it to prom. You wish you were as cool as us, driving to prom in an eight-seat orange ’72 Vista Cruiser with a moon roof and racing stripes. Later its power brakes quit on the edge of Eaton Canyon and I had to flatten a poor old lady’s mailbox to keep from going over the edge.) But cry no more — it’s still in the family; Dad sold it to my cousin John, artist and musician of Psycotic Pineapple fame. A more perfect match could almost not be made. I can only imagine how the brakes will do on San Francisco streets. Good luck, John.

One Comment

  1. Catherine wrote:

    You left off the part about it popping a tire on I-40 coming back from Sedona. Ah, the memories…

    Thursday, June 17, 2004 at 11:44 pm | Permalink

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