Paging Sloppy McCheese.

I found myself standing in front of an old car. Kinda like the one pictured here.

Peeking through gaps in the sheetmetal of its contemporaries, I knew it was built out of crude, likely stick-welded, metal pipe. It had a 3 liter, straight six under the hood, making less than 150 horsepower, drum brakes all around, and brick in the road would likely rip the pitman arm right off the steering box.

And yet, I stood there.

I stood there far longer than I know I should have.

Just staring at it.

I couldn’t stop.

The hood was a mile long, with graceful, sweeping fenders stretching back to the 2-seat cockpit, where a pair of tan, low bucket seats with lap belts marked the beginning of tighter curves to the rear haunches, which suggested the car could pounce and eat its prey even in silence.

I stood there, admiring the way the lights reflected off its flawless, red paint.

I took in every detail. It was gorgeous.

And then it hit me.

Zen & The Price of Love.

I want to buy an old, unloved vehicle and love it. I want to pour my heart and soul into it. I want love it every day and every night until it is so loved it shines like the Sun.

Everyone would love this vehicle. And someone, knowing money can’t buy love and recognizing the next best thing, would buy that vehicle and love it forever.

Of course, I want to do all sorts of things, many of which preclude me from this one-night stand of an idea. But the dream is there. And dreams like this one die hard.

If Sloppy McCheese is listening, I’d REALLY like to have you on the podcast soon.

image: RM Sotheby’s

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