"I was thinking about my car today," she said.
The man lifted his hands gently from the trunk, and the rear wheels of the car lifted a few inches from the ground.
They would all get together and wash her old car, winding up in a gleeful water fight.
She should be looking for a replacement vehicle, but having another car in the garage would only be a reminder that there was no one left to drive it.
She desperately fought the steering wheel for control, but the car weaved all over the road.
After studying the car thoughtfully for a few minutes, he confidently assumed authority.
She counted the seconds in tense silence, waiting for the sound of an explosion, but the only sound was a car approaching from below.
Maneuvering the car around skillfully, he started back up the road.
Again she saw Nick's face in the car window.
He didn't know the car was coming.
Lathum walked beside him to their patrol car and picked up a tablet.
The rear end of the car danced sideways, bouncing like a horse kicking up its heels.
The car spun around at the bottom of the hill, spraying gravel in a wild circle.
The car abruptly halted its progress, slinging Lisa against the steering wheel with bone jarring force.
For a few moments the car hung there, the back half solidly on the ground, the front hanging precariously over the cliff.
The car remained solidly in place.
The car rocked slightly with a gust of wind.
His nod was noncommittal as he examined the place where the car had gone over.
Yet her need to reach the car was vital.
He swung the car off the road and under an arch that read "Ambrosia Acres."
It had been foolish to climb into the car with him.
The car was a loss anyway, but her purse and clothes would be ruined.
Everywhere you turned, people were speculating about, or building models of, the "House of Tomorrow," the "Car of Tomorrow," or the "Workplace of Tomorrow."
I would rather ride on earth in an ox cart, with a free circulation, than go to heaven in the fancy car of an excursion train and breathe a malaria all the way.
"The island of Madagascar," she said, "Ma-da-gas-car," she repeated, articulating each syllable distinctly, and, not replying to Madame Schoss who asked her what she was saying, she went out of the room.
Katie arrived an hour later to pick up Jonathan and Destiny, and thirty minutes later Carmen and Alex were in the car headed for the airport.
Officer Lathum met him half way to the car and lifted a bushy gray brow.
He turned the car toward the Spencer home.
Dad was in a hurry to beat the storm, so she had said nothing as the car backed out of the drive.
Uncomfortable about riding in the car with him, she had offered to drive.
That car didn't look like much even when it was clean, but it was reliable.
My car has a CD player.
The Internet does not, like the car, have a single essence.
Princip seized the opportunity and fired into the open car at a range of five feet, killing them both.
No more trying to retrace your steps to find your car keys; you can see where you left them by checking your GPS system records.
My car, refrigerator, lawnmower, sprinkler system, smoke alarms, locks, and even my clothes.
Remember the notion that the Internet wouldn't turn out to be only for one purpose—that while my car is clearly for taking me places, the Internet won't be for doing one single task, but many?
By "make a car," I mean really make a car: dig iron ore out of the ground, smelt it to steel, wildcat for oil, find oil and refine it into gasoline, and so on.
Again, the materials to build the car are abundant; their cost is high because of technology deficiencies around retrieving and refining them, not an underlying rarity.
A poor person with a six-year-old car today has more wealth than a poor person with a six-year-old car did back in 1911, for the simple reason that cars are so much better now.
We embarked on these car projects with grandiose visions, many as unrealistic as they were ingenious.
The problem for us was always that it is easier to get a car running than it is to fix the brakes.