Thunderbolt

I pass all of these great things in my neighborhood every morning on my walk to the train, like the father and daughter who ride to work/school every day on a tandem bicycle, or the tiny little boy who wears his Spider-man mask with his jacket and school uniform, but this is my very favorite:

I think that in its heyday it said “thunderbolt,” or possibly “thunderbird.” Definitely thunder-something. I think we all can respect that. Check out what’s on its side.

This is all somehow etched into the glass. I pause every time in awe.

This dude is:
1) Drinking Outlaw Heavy Beer.
2) Beckoning you to join him.

This dude lives on a hill in a creepy mansion with a graveyard and has some sort of vulture walking stick. Also, he has skeleton hair.

This one is sort of blurry because I got a little scared.

Obviously, I need to find the guy who owns this van and marry him, hopefully in front of the crowd of bikers from Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure. I’m cool with this, because the three things I’m into are guys with beards, hot young dads, and guys with vans, but for the first time in my life, I feel this twinge of anxiety that perhaps this guy might be more than I can handle. It’s like the sarcastic teenage boy who works in the Springfield Library who’s always reading Catcher in the Rye and makes Lisa Simpson giggle, “Ooh, if only some woman could tame him!”, only with a lot more broken glass, and, judging from what I could see through the windows, possibly jars of urine.