Penata and I were driving down Lamar yesterday, on our way to meet friends to watch the UNC Final Four game. (Excuse me while I pause for a moment to weep bitter tears. Bitter, bitter tears. Ok, back to the story.) It was sunny, breezy, beautiful and warm outside, so we had the music on and the windows rolled down. Yeah, baby. Hot chicks in a nondescript red sedan. Grrrrr!
We passed an awesome classic car, a Studebaker Cruiser, all red and beautiful, a mustachioed dude in his 40s behind the wheel in a muscle-man t-shirt and ponytail. Here's a picture of another car, same make and model, but it's blue. Sorry it's really tiny, but this interweb is still confusing to me, and it's the best I can do right now.
Cool, right? As we passed this fine automobile I was pretty obviously ogling it, so the driver looked at me, and smiled. I smiled back.
"Nice car!" I shouted over at him. He smiled back and winked at me.
"What year is it?" I asked.
"Sixty-five," he shouted back. "What about you?"