This first week of August finds us in the thick of summer, battling heat and mosquitos in equal measure. One summertime treat that has faded from your author’s life now he’s knocking on his fortieth year? The purchase of a summer car.

You know exactly the kind of summer car I’m talking about. It’s a beater, bought for peanuts and likely ending its life at the end-of-summer demolition derby. In between, though, full-throttle blasts and the lack of concern for dents and bumps (in both the car and myself, if we’re honest) lend themselves to the creation of a roster of stories to be told and re-told at the local bar that winter after the car is long gone.

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