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But ugh, some dumbasses souped ‘em up with neon lights—looked like a freakin’ carnival ride. Made me rage, “You’re ruinin’ it, hippies!” Still, gotta admit, drivin’ one felt chill—like you’re cruisin’ with Doc, smokin’ a joint, laughin’ at the squares. Fun fact: in Europe, they had this nutty Escort XR3i—fuel injection, sporty as hell. America got screwed with weaker versions, pisses me off! “Why’d they stiff us, huh?!” I’d yell. Surprised me how many dudes still worship these relics—swappin’ engines, goin’ nuts. Kinda dope, actually.

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Then, I step outside, and it starts pouring. Like, outta nowhere! I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing there, drenched, thinking, “This is just perfect.” But then I see a group of kids splashing in puddles, and I can’t help but smile. They’re having the time of their lives. I mean, who cares about getting wet, right?

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