She drove a '92 Chevrolet, dark green. It was as beat up as she was. It whined like a squeaky rat every time she started it. When the rain soaked the sidewalks and the streets ran like mascara tears, she would say that the soil soaked up everything--the toxins and pollutants. When the rain came, it didn't matter if it was bad; the soil let it in anyway. She said she was too dry for that now, too hard and compact. She said her cracks showed like wrinkles.