Latest Blog Post

I’m a car girl…

A cherry red, Stang. A white rag top, classic old style body, a blower in the hood.. It wasn’t a new one, they go like stink, but they have no soul. That moment when he turned the key, you could feel that subtle vibration under your feet. That rumbling sound from under the hood, the smell of the leather interior, the feel of it under your fingertips.

I remember sitting in the passenger seat, the seatbelt locked tight as my boyfriend tore down the street. When he hung the corner, I was pressed up against the door, hanging on for what felt like my life as the tires squealed. You could smell the rubber as the tires skidded and then caught and I felt like we had been launched out of a catapult.

I was 16, he was 22, we were in love. It was a dream, a fantasy right out of a teenage romance novel.

That night, he took me out to the track and taught me how to drive, I was hooked. He taught me a few other things that night.

He was arrested two days later. Turns out he had stolen the car. Pity, I loved that car.