my hefty rollerskate beast

it is my car. bumper stickered up; several years ago. he makes it to Estes Park with the windows rolled down and the heat cranked up and the music off i hear him gasping for some sort of enduring breath he can make it to Echo Lake the same precautions are made around the winding incline churning i speak words of encouragement shouting you can do it so i may visit the mountian goats after i hike past the picnicing grandparents but he won't make it to breckinridge and though i am game for hitchhiking with mates my high heels tell me i should not make a go of it this time so i offered my rejection with with slight personal disappointment as i acknowledged that i do not own a mountain vehical i owned a gift with racing stripes i owned a toy that i rarely paralall park i owned a not-a-gas-guzzler and i owned a little guy i could traverse the foothills, if i do it carefully no camping in breck this time around maybe tubbing in nebraska though