My car.

I wrote this blog awhile ago. Forgot to post it.

I used to dream of someday having a lamborgini countach. A black one, just like the poster in my room. Remember that? Then, later I dreamed of a camaro. Maybe an '82 Z28 like Travis' mom. When I was in college, I started to realize that I really loved the feel of a huge car with a huge engine. Not a luxury car like that '81 Parisseane Damian's mom had. You know the one. You felt like you could swing the wheel in 2 complete circles with enough pressure from your index finger to turn the page of a novel, and when you did, the car would calmly change lanes. No, I wanted a muscle car, but the oversized version with enough room for a bunch of shriners to drive in circles on the floor mat.
Well one day, as I was reading the car for sale ads in the local shopper (i still do, even though I need no car), I saw an ad for a 1968 Impala SS convertible. It said it had a 396 cubic inch engine(the original one) and they were asking $1750 for it. Depending on the condition, I knew that might be a steal. Or it might be robbery. But what I was positive about was that it had just become my car, no matter the condition. I got my big sister to co-sign on a loan, took a cab the 45 miles into North Dakota and drove it home. Well, most of the way. The tow truck finished that for me. Now, 15 years later, that very car sits, almost completely disassembeled in my shop waiting for me to finish what I told Bob would take 7 years of ownership to do. Make everyone else see what I see. A dream.