Should a 16 year old be allowed to drive around in 2 ½ tons of snarling steel?
You can thank Driver’s Ed classes for that ill-advised decision. Dicey situation at best, right? Now add a bottle of cheap wine, some blotter acid, and a carload of drunk, pot-puffing pals. What does that sound like to you? An accident waiting to happen? A recipe for disaster?
I called it Halloween.
My Uncle Jimmy had recently managed to get himself killed by busting his head in a fall. In his apartment. Dead drunk. He left me his car in the will. It was awesomeness itself: A white, convertible 1963 Buick Electra 225 with black leather upholstery, six-way power seats and a turbine drive rocket under the hood, powered by 325 snorting ponies. 0-60 in 8.4 seconds. For a car that weighed over 5,000 pounds with a full boat of teenage asshats. As Eric Cartman would say, “Helli-cool.”
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