Feliz Día de los Muertos

Dear Editor,
    In the days of our youth, my friend Nate and I were driving up Congress Avenue. We were stopped at a light in front of the Capitol building when a cop walked out into the intersection and halted traffic.
    We heard a low rumbling noise … not unlike the scene in Jurassic Park when the ferocious T. rex is walking around the car – the coffee cup is vibrating and rippling. We looked at each other in bewilderment. All of a sudden this lowrider bounced around the corner on three wheels. Another one followed and another … it took us a minute to realize – ah ha! Día de los Muertos lowrider parade.
    Hittin' switchez, tricked out, hoppin' like Dr. Dre with all these hot Latinas walking beside them. We threw our hands up as the entourage rolled by. Respect, bitch.
    So we're enjoying the show; it lasts for 10 minutes or so. Just when we thought it was over, we're about to take off, and this rusted, shitty hoopty is tagging along behind. It was wiggling side to side in an awkward fashion. Not like the hydraulic hops we've all come to know and love. No, amigos; this one just wasn't right. We were perplexed at this, an unusual caboose for such a train of great pride and mucho glitter.
    When he rolled by us, we were able to see inside the unsuspecting vehicle: It was this nerdy guy jerking his steering wheel back and forth to create the appearance of a hydraulic system. He lagged behind, and we knew not if it was in denial – or complete resolution to his predicament as the tag-along lemon in this festive spectacle.
    And so, a legend was born. It came to pass that every year on the Day of the Dead, my buddy and I gather the crew around to recant this tale, just as our forefathers recited, "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" to their children on Christmas Eve. I hope your children, and every generation hereafter, shall marvel in this story just as mine will, pending my vasectomy reversal.