Dad had an old beat-up, black Mercedes that he used to transport himself to work in. I like to sit in it afternoons after school, when the warn sun would beam in. It had a shiny wood interior, and when I slammed the door shut, it made that wonderful new car sound. It sounded tight, and it shut out the rest of the world. It was old but not an antique. If it was around these days, it certainly be graced with a plate like this and covered with some delicate wisps of snow. You motoring around this weekend? I'm hanging close to home.