What is is like to own a vintage Porsche 911? It’s a compulsive energy that will have you looking out the front window of your home every 5 minutes to see if the car is still there. Not because you’re worried somebody stole it but because you can’t help but look at it and get those butterflies. Better go outside and check the back seat maybe you forgot to bring something inside. While you’re there why not open the hood and stare at the engine again.
You’ve counted every scratch and nick on this car, there’s two, and each one breaks your heart. You follow the lines of the hood along the body measuring the anges of German engineering at it’s finest. Every loving curve meticulously designed by Ferdinand Alexander Porsche himself. It’s a glove that just fits.
As you sneak behind the steering wheel, seat hugging you as you examine the dash, you run your hand over it and think that perhaps it needs another coat of Armor-all…it wouldn’t hurt. It’s time you eat something because you’ve been in the garage for two hours, where did the time go? Rather than go inside and make a sandwich why not grab the keys drive to that roadside diner.
You circle the parking lot a few times to ensure you have the best spot at the diner with a clear view from your window seat. Your sandwich, coffee and croissant go down nicely and you feel great, maybe it was the thrill of getting here along those winding roads out back and because you have the best view in the world right now as the sun lifts shadows over the hood. A man pays and exits he turns back to look at your car and pauses. You smile because it reminds you of the first time you discovered your 911 and how it was simply meant to be.
You take that last sip of coffee, leave the girl a 20 and grab your keys. You’ve been in a lot of different relationships in your life but you just know that this one is different. You don’t even have to talk and you understand her. You listen and she responds. I’m not sure there is a description for the type of love one can feel for a vintage Porsche 911, except to say that it is stronger than any glue. It’s like the soul of a mistress who rewards you for every hairpin turn, every straightaway, every desperate mile of asphalt, which is why you keep going back.
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