Iridescent olive green, avocado and gold crocodile printed black suede is paired with bi-color moonstone. We are calling this lovely “Conor” after The Irish bar Conor O’Neills just off Pearl St. in Boulder that closed in 2016. I worked at Conor O’Neills in my early twenties waiting tables. I carried trays full of pints to customers and would be rewarded by a slap on the ass and a tip of a quarter that was flicked at me. #arefuckingkiddingme
🤬. At that time I had a 1985 CJ-7. Swipe right to see my🔥🏎. I got this jeep at 19. It had huge tires, black diamond plating and in the Summer it had no doors, and no top. I thought I was the shit in this Jeep. I drove it across the country from Baltimore to Colorado. It caught on fire, it leaked, and it only went 55mph tops, but I loved this Jeep. It was 100% mine, it represented absolute freedom to me, even though it was totally impractical. Earlier that year my👨🔧 fixed it and left it outside his shop to be picked up the next day, and two homeless men stole it, drove it all around Boulder and then took it to the 7-11 on Walnut and told the cashier they stole it. 🙊 I got it back from the police the next morning. If you knew those jeeps than you knew the little secret that if not locked you could turn the ignition on without a key. I never encountered anyone that knew that. So I rarely locked the ignition since it was easier to just turn it without a key. So there I am, finishing my shift at Conor O’Neills at 2am only to be confronted with an empty parking lot. “Did I drive today?” “Did I lend my car out?” Every imaginable doubt thought comes through your mind when your car is stolen. You’re not sure what day it is. Did I just get punked? Did I park someplace else? It’s a strange feeling to lose something that represented so much to you. Will I ever see it again? If I don’t, what does that mean?? I mourned that car for a solid two weeks, and then the call came. They were doing routine license plate scans at a hotel in Longmont and my car popped up. Stolen by an ex-convict. .
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