Little Red Corvette Quotes

It was surprisingly crowded, a bunch of middle-aged people, mostly women, moving enthusiastically, if a bit awkwardly, to Prince’s “Little Red Corvette,” trying to find a way back to their younger, more limber selves.

One night in Austin, I went out to karaoke with friends, and I was so loaded I jumped onstage and wrestled the microphone from some poor guy in the middle of “Little Red Corvette.” When I went to get a drink afterward, the bartender said, “I’m sorry, you’ve been cut off.” Cut off? Why? For nailing that fucking Prince song? There

At Takamatsu Station I take a bus to the fitness club. I change into my gym clothes in the locker room, then do some circuit training, plugged into my Walkman, Prince blasting away. It’s been a while and my muscles complain, but I manage. It’s the body’s normal reaction—muscles screaming out, resisting the extra burden put on them. Listening to “Little Red Corvette,” I try to soothe that reaction, suppress it. I take a deep breath, hold it, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale. Even breathing, over and over. One by one I push my muscles to the limit. I’m sweating like crazy, my shirt’s soaked and heavy. I have to go over to the cooler a few times to gulp down water.

A loser like Larry didn’t deserve a fine vintage car like Gloria. The Corvette Stingray had been lovingly restored by a jackass who named his car, yet treated his kids like afterthoughts. I planned to lovingly tear the fucking thing apart. “Have your fun then we’ll torch it and get a beer,” Vaughn said, yawning. “Did anyone see you?” I asked just to annoy him. My question worked like a charm and Vaughn squinted disgusted at me then walked over to a large rock where he sat down and looked at his phone. Swinging the bat, I smashed out the taillight. As painful as it was to tear apart such a beautiful car, Lark needed vengeance. In my mind, I wasn’t hitting the Corvette. I was destroying every person who ever hurt my girl. Every stepfather who hit her, mocked her, and ignored her. I imagined the hung over fucker who let her little brother die. I even pictured her mother who chose the latest fuck over her own kids. I hated them all for every tear Lark ever shed. If I couldn’t hunt them down, I’d destroyed the prized possession of the latest bastard to mistreat my muse. Smashing the windows, the lights, denting the cherry red doors, I trashed the car until I was out of breath. Eventually, I grabbed a blade and tore the tires, just to finish off my rage. “Wuss,” Vaughn said, standing over me as I leaned against the car. “Shame about Gloria. She was a beauty.” “I haven’t been to the batting cage in awhile. I think I pulled something” “Sure,” Vaughn muttered, yanking me to my feet. “Let’s light this little bitch up and get a beer.” “I need to get home to Lark.” “Are you fucking kidding me? I steal this car for you and don’t even get to trash it and you won’t have a beer with me? What an asshole.” “Please, don’t cry,” I said, patting his shoulder. “I don’t have the energy to hold you until your sobs turn to baby hiccups.” Vaughn laughed. “I miss Judd. The guy knew how to drink a beer and he didn’t mind when I pissed myself weeping like a chick.” “The guy is the epitome of patience,” I said, picking up the container of gas. “Or indifference. He always did seem a little bored when you two were talking.” “You looking to have me use that bat on you, is that it?” Grinning, I splashed gasoline on Gloria, careful not to have the liquid hit me. Once the car was thoroughly drenched, Vaughn lit a match.