was about an hour past New York on my way upstate when the car started spewing pink smoke. I don’t know much about engines, but that seemed bad. An hour or so later, after a few quick fixes that proved more quick than actually a fix, the whole thing quit on an inclined overpass, and I had to shell out $50 to some guy just to take it off my hands. Don’t feel bad for the car—it lived a long life. And to be fair, the poor little guy fulfilled his part of the deal—getting me to New York. I pushed it with the trip upstate, but I did get to spend a week swimming and drinking with friends, and last night, after a thunderstorm that lit up the George Washington Bridge, I finally got back to the city, where it was dense and wet as pea soup. But today is clear and cool, and I’m on my way to see the Dukes of Hazzard. So far, not a bad start.