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Greetings all!  I'm 33 and am diligently improving my writing skills.  I don't think I'm bad at writing but I really do need to learn the technicalities of punctuation and all that.  It's something I've always wanted to do personally and professionally.  This is the final result of a writing exercise for one the courses I'm taking.  The goal was to be descriptive and active.  This is my first creative writing piece, be gentle yet honest, please! :-)  

Thanks for any feedback you may wish to offer.

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Rain drops rolled down it's glistening orange exterior as I sat in my office glaring out into the dreary, rain soaked parking lot - "What the hell just happened?" - I asked myself, as I scoured the evanescent memories of the past three weeks, desperate to understand why it was sitting there taunting me.  Stupid car; it even has a cool name - "Veloster."  The freshly painted, dark orange exterior so well matches the early October leaves upon which the car rests that I almost feel guilty for hating the infernal machine.  "Look at the way the falling leaves match the color - No! - I'm not keeping it, damn it!"

The decision to purchase the car beast haunts me because I knew it was a mistake; I knew it before I signed the elongated paper work and received the final congratulatory hand shake from the sales guy - the dude with the black, bristly mustache and beady little eyes nestled behind oval glasses - and now I'm obsessed with the financially ruinous task of trading it in on another vehicle.  I wouldn't be in such a state of disturbing self-doubt if I would have listened to the steadfast little voice - who sort of sounds like Richard Simmons - in my head exuberantly yelling "Don't do it!  Run away with your little red rocket in your pocket and don't look back!"

My Little Red Rocket was a 2003 Honda Insight with manual transmission; it was the best car ever.  It had anachronistic plastic covers that left half of the rear wheels exposed where rubber meets the road; a unique tapering tear drop body design that flowed from front to back, and it was covered in awesome sauce getting an average of 60-70 MPG.  Oh, I almost forgot: It had been paid off for at least 6 out of the 10 blissfully efficient years I drove it.  And now the Little  Red Rocket's senior miles are being driven by another while I sit here and ponder what to do about this orange wretch of a vehicle that serves as a stark reminder that I may not be as cognizant of my motives as I once believed.

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