Oh the Baretta, the bane of my existence. I need, and hate you so at the same time. Ah, the memories. How bout that time your drooping headliner blocked my vision and almost killed me. Wasn't that a hoot? Say, recall that day when your hood pull-cord finally broke for good? Yeah, I'm so glad that I had to rig up a retarded looking system that leaves a lever bar sticking out of my hood for all to see now. But you just keep going with your shenanigans where most would have stopped. You also keep me in shape, because if I don't rush into my drivers seat like lightning, then I know your springless, heavy door will come crashing into my limbs. Haha, remember all that blood?! Hey! Speaking of springless, where did that rascally gas cover spring run off to again? I sure miss him, I think of that little guy every time I make a turn and it flaps back and forth...clip clop...clip clop. It's like the heartbeat of a demon, riding passenger. Speaking of passengers, we haven't had one of those in a long time, have we? Not since the rubber window insulation deteriorated on that side, but who needs those selfish passengers anyway when they would rather walk than ride in you. Beretta, you and I always feel the same. When you're cold, I'm cold. When you're hot, I'm hot too. Thanks to your temperature system failing ages ago, I feel this just binds us even closer. Akin to a nightmare one can never wake from. You're warm glowing Check Engine light is much like a beacon. A beacon of hopelessness. So, thank you Beretta. Without you, I would be walking to and fro. Sure, I'd be a happy person walking, lighthearted and giddy. But you had other things in store for me, didn't you?