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Before posting my Bug story... I need to get in gear with the right lyrics.

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy

Hello lamp-post
What cha knowin'?
I've come to watch your flowers growin'
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in' doo-doo,
Feelin' groovy

I've got no deeds to do
No promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me
Life I love you,
All is groovy.

My orange bug was a hand-me-down of a hand-me-down, having passed from my sister, to my brother, to me.
It died between Hiltonia and Sardis, Georgia, in the middle of nowhere, having thrown a rod after being pushed to the limit by my college buddy while I slept off a hangover.

Sometime after the moon landing, I turned 10. By the age of ten, I was already babysitting and trying to become a big time career girl. My neighbor had a Bug and three little kids, so she was happy to have the help while running around doing errands.

One time, we took the bug to the beach where her very bohemian brother used to make candles in the sand. I remember the family was concerned about his future but she never showed any judgment towards her bro. I thought that was really cool. She loved him for who he was.

Anyway, we packed up the car with his candles, all mesmerizing layers of colorful wax, fresh sand still dropping off each gift. He would sell these candles and other artistic things and make some monthly cash. I got a couple of those sand candles, and we went back home in the Bug. It was a pretty good day's pay.

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