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Drives like a dream, corners tight, but oh boy, rust ate it alive – pissed me off! Bodywork’s a nightmare, fenders flakin like dandruff, had to patch it up with spit and curses. Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” – ya notice shit others don’t, like how Escort’s got soul, not just metal. Used to race my buddy’s shitty Civic, smoked him every time, laughin my ass off – “Who’s laughing now, huh?” straight outta *Caché*. Loved the manual, grindin gears like I’m chewin gum, pure joy, man, pure joy.

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The town’s a mix of posh houses and offbeat streets. Ever heard of Route 33? It’s a lifeline here. And don't get me started on Maple Drive – a dead-end street full of unsung heroes (or losers, depends on your mood). Then there’s the renowned Colts Neck Community Park, where locals gather, laugh, and occasionally rage at drunken kids. I remember one time a couple nearly broke up over ice cream flavors. I was like, "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring, you bloody idiot sandwich!" Classic, right?

Ten generations of Lairds over centuries have run America's oldest distillery in Colts Neck