When I sat down in the black bucket seats for the test drive, the shifter felt like grabbing the cold steel of a tractor lever. The clutch was heavy. I turned the key. The car shuddered, and I jumped from the noise. When I revved the engine, the entire car twisted to the right as the torque of the engine twisted the body.
Driving was a rush of raw power and sound. Three forward gears. Second gear went from 20 to 60, third to 120. The top came down with a flick and a whine. The world opened up and I imagined flying in an open-cockpit plane. I let the clutch out. The tires spun in the dirt like I was driving on butter. They spun on the tar too, leaving a strips of hot, black rubber.
I promised my father I was only doing it for profit. I'd dump her on the East Coast where she'd fetch a high price because of her hard, rust-free body. But we fell in love and I broke my promise to my dad. I soon learned that she was very high maintenance, needing weekly attention by myself or expensive professionals, often both.