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. . . and as if the thrill of driving a turbo weren't enough for my body, my adrenaline pumps triple time as we roll up on what has got to be the best kept secret since Area 51 . . . imports and domestics alike line both sides of a long straight in the abandoned factory district. A few tense stares lets me know that I have the first Lancer to drive down this outlaw 1320 . . . either that or the huge wing on the back has just been mistaken for rice.
I hope that's what it is . . . then I will gladly call a buddy or two to follow me home in my new prizes . . . that M3 with "everything" looks good . . . or maybe I'll take that pristine 510 . . . my clutch foot begins to tingle . . . and I wait . . .
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