Cleaning out the old place was taking forever. There was my brother with a
spray-bottle of Windex wiping down a big mixing bowl full of Hot Wheels
cars. Most he put into a shopping bag for the sale, but some he arranged
bumper to bumper circle the wagons style around his plate. “These are my
old ones”, he said, indicating his circular little traffic jam. With a smile that
made him look nine years old again, he showed me a “Z” scratched into the
dull grey underside of a car. He laughed, ”Z is for Zorro”.