It happened sooner than I had anticipated. She died in a small parking lot behind a Starbucks in Studio City on a hot Saturday afternoon. I walked out, iced coffee in hand, and attempted to get her going. I was planning to get a head start on some Halloween costume shopping with Christine, my wardrobe stylist friend who wanted to take me somewhere deep in the Valley for some warehouse deals. All I got was a p-p-puttering that made my heart sink. My 2002 Ford Focus, the first car I had ever owned, the vehicle that helped me navigate the traffic-riddled streets of Los Angeles for the past 8 years, had died on me. Luckily Christine had some jumper cables, but they didn't help. The battery was fine. My two-month-old service report had said so. The engine was what was on its deathbed. My car didn't always have the name Sydney. In fact, she didn't have any name until Kathleen came up with it sometime in 2003 while we were participating in our weekly obsession over the jaw-drop
