Open letter to my car

Now, I know a delivery job is kind of menial, and Manhattan in January is no place for a lady of your refinement and breeding. But you know I love you. You don't have to make unhappy noises in third gear just to get my attention.

I tell you what, though, I'll be down in a minute with those tools you like, and if you tell me where it hurts I promise I'll make it all better.