On April 21st, 1967, the 100 millionth GM vehicle rolled off the line at the plant in Janesville – a blue two-door Caprice. There was a big ceremony, speeches. The lieutenant governor even showed up. Three days later, another car rolled off that same line. No one gave two craps about her. But they should’ve, because this 1967 Chevrolet Impala would turn out to be the most important car, no, the most important object in pretty much the whole universe. She was first owned by Sal Moriarty, an alcoholic with two ex-wives and three blocked arteries. On weekends, he’d drive around giving Bibles to the poor. “Gettin’ folks right for Judgment Day,” that’s what he said. Sam and Dean don’t know any of this, but if they did, I bet they’d smile. After Sal died, she ended up at Rainbow Motors, a used-car lot in Lawrence, where a young marine bought her on impulse. That is, after a little advice from a friend. I guess that’s where this story begins.
were three coins in the tiny palm, the smallest of which was just enough to buy
a meagre serving of bread. Master would beat her, even if she lied and said
prices for something else had gone up. Hunger pains kicked her in the stomach
just as hard as he would, and she turned to the stall. As she did so, one of
the many market-goers walked into her. Skinny and weak as she was, she hit the
ground, and the coins went flying from her hand.
of being trampled, she gathered the shopping within her reach, and scrambled to
cower under a nearby stall. Pulling her knees to her chest, her hair fell in
matted, scarlet tangles so only her round green eyes were visible over her
knobbly legs. The coins were lost to her, she knew but was distracted by a
commotion in the market place. Sighting a flash of crimson, her brows knotted
together in confusion. Rare it was to see another ginger in Kalavrita, and this
one seemed to be causing trouble. Leaning forward so her head was poking out,
she stayed protected by the bread stall, but watched intently even as the woman