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To the Glue Factory

She looked like a good pony: short, but sturdy and footsure. Her lines were pure economy. Not even Todd, whose appreciation of such things ran ahead of most, would call her elegant. The icon proudly worn on her chest indicated that General Motors played some role in weaving together her DNA, although as I pondered her scruffy coat, I couldn’t remember seeing a breed like this before. We tested her throughly as hardened Westerners are wont to do: I kicked her tire. She didn’t flinch. Satisfied, Seth signed the rental papers and we we climbed aboard.