A Romantic Gesture Involving 1,250 Miles and Gas Fumes

The Bronco at a gas station is equivalent to a puppy at a park. The problem is that no one asks you how you made the puppy. I can handle the basics, but when the conversation turns to all of the various types of carburetors that Holley makes I’ve got to tap out. When asked if I’m responsible for all of the upgrades I go with the line, “I’m the guy that bought this from that guy.” Everyone’s still disappointed, but it goes a lot quicker.