This looks a lot like my first car:
Chevy Vega Wagon. Early '70's. It had an 8-track! I played lots of Rush on it. I think it was red with wood vinyl panels, though. That might have been the rust. God that thing was a piece of shit. Burned oil from both ends. I'd be at a stop light and some kind citizen would lean out of his window and shout to me, "You're burning oil!" I'd want to say, "no kidding, dipshit," but I'd just answer with a smile and a "thank you" wave.
Except, it wasn't really MY car, it was my sister's, Sis#1 (and the 8-tracks were Bro's). Dad kept all the keys just hanging up in the kitchen. Easy access. So, I'd "borrow" the car! I vividly remember one night, returning the car, pushing it down our road, all lights and engine off for secrecy, when Dad popped up! Holy shit. He didn't say a word. Just helped me push it back into its parking spot. Then he said, "We'll talk about this in the morning." I was FREAKED out! See, he usually yelled his head off at the smallest thing, so, for him to just quietly, solemnly make that statement.... it was chilling.
In the morning, before he left for work, he was very grim. "I'm not going to hide the keys. But if you get caught, I won't bail you out and you won't be able to get your license until you're 18." I was 14 at the time. Within 2 years, Dad (as he was) would be gone. But I would still be borrowing the cars. All in the family.
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