Some people go through life with a tough crust. Nothing seems to dent them. You begin to wonder if they are made of metal. Of course they might still get heated, but then so can a steam boiler.
Here are two recent visitors to the Great Steam Punk Affair ball. Mme. Bronzica and The Copper Colonel. Whether they started life in this form is unknown – they might have just been tiny little tin cans. Perhaps they have been fighting savages and have had to replace various parts of their epidermis with metal plates. It would be impolite to ask.
Of course one cannot escape from the feelings of curiosity – are those rivets or bolts? Are the plates gasketed. Is there an exhaust pipe somewhere…and a drip pipe for condensation. Do they leak oil or hydraulic fluid? Sometimes the desire to tap one of the plates with a hammer becomes almost overwhelming…
The Great Steam Punk Affair ball abounded in astonishing sights – in some cases we were moved to pity by the degree to which the human had become submerged in the machine. Some ball-goers seemed to need WD-40 as much as tea or coffee, and I am certain I heard one woman asking to have her nipples greased. It shows the historic nature of the night – I have looked all over the underside of my Suzy and I am hard pressed to find one lube point. I must go out with older cars and younger women.