civic sitting in front of you, taking a long puff of the cigarette before exhaling through the nitrogen vent. “You know, I got hit back in the day,‘ he said, his voice heavy with years of nicotine and regret. “Back then, in my mind, this was what everyone wanted. People look at me, I was desire. ” Another obstacle. “I’m someone.”
“I get it. Tastes change, and cars like me are left behind. We’re too many, built too specifically for an unfashionable look. We fly too close to the sun, and when our wings melt or our coolers leak, the community that should have caught us is long gone. , big wheels with the thinnest sidewalls, and getting rid of all of that is just too much of a task. Cars like me, we sit out and rot.”
Another pull of the cigarette.
“God, we had so much fun.”
