Monthly parking in New York City is the same price as a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes.

It has become ridiculous.

I keep a car in the city because I am the perfect daughter and visit my mom twice a week in Connecticut.

It would be a real hassle to get from the west side to Grand Central, take a 50 minute train, walk 5 miles to her house because taxis are never there when you need them and then turn around and do a reverse trip.

I can drive there in under 40 minutes.

To tell you the truth, when I leave during off peak hours it is easy and freeing.

The radio is blasting, the leaves are turning colors and literally falling like rain, the Hudson River is sparkling.

It is the only alone time I really have because walking Finnley in Central Park is analogous to being in a WWE wrestling ring.

I have always enjoyed driving until I moved to Los Angeles, but that is ammunition for another post.

But generally speaking, I love the drum beat of where rubber meets the road, the music and the speed.

Friday, I did the drive.

It gave me time to digest the horrors of a Trump presidency.

I almost took the turn off of the Hutchinson River Parkway for Chappaqua to see if I could run into Hillary and have a cathartic, long, ugly cry with her.

I still felt awful, but Springsteen helped to temporarily cleanse my soul.

Nothing like the power and seduction of Springsteen’s song, Fire, to quell the flames of emotion raging inside of me.

If I could literally run into Trump crossing 5th Avenue and just knock the shit out of him, leveling the playing field for all the misery he has caused millions of concerned and frightened Americans.

But you can’t always get what you want.

Back to the cruel realities of life and the only legitimate Boss left in this once sane country…I’m driving in my car, I turn on the radio.