Pretty soon this thing won’t be new anymore, its siblings won’t be sitting in dealerships but instead they’ll all be dented with old fast food wrappers lost between the seats. Forgotten stains on the floor, jumper cables in the trunk, trash bags for windows.
I can hear 1980s Camrys quietly calling to this 2012 sedan.
With every passing year, this new Toyota edges further into obscurity. It closes in on the fascinating world of used car dealerships, busted taillights, carpools, until it finally rests in a field somewhere in the hinterlands.
Its future likely lies in a junkyard and a recycling plant, but today it’s just one more big, bland box for people to sit in, flying around the country, bashing into cabs, buildings, lightposts, getting drunk driven, making it to dance recitals, new restaurants, friends’ houses and whatever else the middle class does to keep itself entertained and employed.
Does the Camry care? Fuck no.
Someone will drive a Camry just like this into a wall and its crumple zones will shatter the bumper, tear through the radiator, crushing in the engine and transmission. The driver will step out, unharmed and the Camry will finally be freed from its unknowing, unblinking servitude.