The Lone Heads are the Worst Part

My car is a testament to my life. It should be a part of my life that transports myself and certain items from one destination to another. However, it is more often than not, just purgatory for my stuff. Things go in and then things just stay there. I recently moved into a third story apartment with winding stairs of death and no elevator, and this is only exacerbating the problems in my car.

Now every minutia item I have to bring up from my car feels like I’m carrying Frodo to the top of Mount Doom. This has lead to a collection of rather odd items piling up in the front passenger seat (read: the final loading dock) of my car. These items include, but are not limited to:

A book of coupons for homeowners

2 leather coats

An expired bag of Twizlers (I didn’t know they could expire either)

A bag of smelly roller derby gear

2 bald mannequin heads

A set of WW2 DVDs

A turkey roaster

And a completed puzzle of a white tiger sitting on top of the earth, surrounded by purple clouds

I can only assume that those fortunate enough to peer into the depths of my car will think I’m preparing for a dinner party with imaginary friends, or that I’m about to host a dashing cloak-and-dagger prison break for my jewel thief friends who didn’t make away like I did.