We’re in his little roadster, a jellybean of a car that rarely fails to arouse my ire. I curse it for its claustrophobic cabin, its low seating position that makes you wonder if you’re going to walk away with road rash on your ass, its minimal trunk space and crappy cup holders.
All irritations. All excuses. What I really hate is the jauntiness of the car, its spunky handling and merry turn ratio. Sure, I drove a convertible, but mine wasn’t so ... precious.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment