Urban, vehicular fable.
Written, demi-appropriately, to near-vintage Roxy Music in a Shiney Apple-related memory jag. This is driving music in the far and away sense.
Fable:
And by fable Yours Truly means You read a parallel meaning, dig.
Yesterday, amongst a typical marathon day of several gigs far and wide, interspersed with necessary electronic linkage to the world-at-large, decided to try one of those small, vehicular gestures that can make all the proverbial difference.
The car had been pulling to the right, often. It got me to thinking that perhaps I should motor over to see ol' Mat Sims at the dealership to swap out cars - again.
But no.
For a mere 75¢ in quarters YT wrestled with a borrowed hose (three minutes and counting) and its attached air-o-meter, filling all four sporty tires.
To the brim.
The tires were at 20 p.s.i. and they prefer to be about 45 p.s.i. That is shop talk for pounds per square inch, whatever the hell that really means and, being a very busy freelancing woman on the g.o. go, who can really care.
That is another matter altogether, to be Googled or Wiki'd perhaps never.
So in lieu of frustration, possible substitution, YT invested a meager amount of time and money to meliorate. Problem solved.
This fable may be applied, in whole, to the concept of relationships and to friendships.
Thank you for Your attention in this matter.

Respectfully Submitted, Love.