I am twenty-five years old. I should have built that cardboard plane while I could. Now I'm snowed under with work at the plasma center, and my latest personal venture--trying to assert my superiority over my neighbor--has all but become a second job!

Today I test drove a Lexus SC convertible. It was hard enough convincing the salesman I had the money even to consider the car because I looked like hell—unshaven, unchanged, weary. (The fact that I arrived in a 1982 Chevette didn't help matters.) The car was kind of ugly and old-mannish but it screamed wealth nonetheless. I wanted to make it look to Kevin as if I owned it, so I pulled the immaculate beast into one of the garages near his space and started washing it around the time he usually comes home. I pulled out all the stops, draping a towel over the dealer sticker on the driver's side and putting my Kent State decal on the back window. It looked reasonably convincing. Needless to say, though, the car's sheer extravagance made me feel a little dirty, and the dark irony of its sitting in such a mediocre apartment complex was more than a little unsettling. When Kevin parked next to me in his Civic, I briefly noted an unbearable churning in my stomach, and in my nervous self-loathing avoided his glance. I should have realized that next to a Lexus such behavior probably just seems aloof.

"Hey, Jefferson, is that a Lexus you've got?" he said without a trace of resentment as he and his wife got out of the car.

I wanted to disclaim my nonpurchase creatively but couldn't figure out how to without arousing suspicion. I'm a terrible liar.

"Yes."

"Wow! Well, congratulations. It seems like you're doing well for yourself. I've been thinking about moving up, too. Rita wants me to get a Passat." He kissed his beautiful wife. "Mind if I look inside?"

"Well, actually, Kevin—I accidentally locked it and I can't figure out how to use the remote." Like I said, I'm a terrible liar.

"Oh, that's no big deal. Let me see—"

"No, wait, Kevin. I've been meaning to tell you something." I motioned him to walk with me toward the apartment. It was nice to get away from the car. "I just...I think you're a wonderful person, Kevin. You too, Rita. You're such a great couple, and...well, I'm just so glad to be your neighbor."

"Awww, thanks, Mickey! Are you sure you don't want me to help you with the car?"

We both looked at the unrinsed Lexus. The dealer license plate was uncomfortably obvious.

"Nah. I'll figure it out. As a matter of fact, I don't know how much I like it. I think I might just end up selling it. I can't live with cars with counterintuitive controls. My Chevette fits me like a glove. I'm sure I can get it back somehow."

"Understandable. See you later, Mick! Good luck!"

Looks like it's been yet another multi-layered defeat for Mickey Jefferson.

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