I'm convinced there is a ghost living in my car. The other day, while driving in the fine city of Kingston, the Missus and I had to park beside an old church and its ancient graveyard. "Make sure to roll the windows all the way up," I said. "Don't want a ghost getting in." Knowing that it was already entirely too late.
The ghost hasn't made himself seen just yet, but he will. It's only a matter of time before I'm driving down the highway and his ghostly face appears in the mirror. I imagine him doing nothing but heckling me as I'm trying to drive. That is why I've continued to roll down the windows whenever I pass a graveyard and try to shoo him away. Everyone knows once a ghost gets settled, they're impossible to evict.
On the bright side, perhaps he's a mechanic and can take care of a few things that need fixing. However, the important lesson in all of this remains the very same lesson a writer must always remember--there is story in everything as long as you are willing to live it.
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