She stepped out with him, then studied the black Mustang. "You own a car."
"This is not merely a car, and to call it such is very female."
"And to say that is very sexist. Okay, if it's not a car, what is it?"
"It's a machine."
"I stand corrected."
Blue Dahlia
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https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=308499
Steve McQueen's speed machine gets a muscle-y 480hp upgrade.
The Mustang Bullitt is cool. But it would be cool whether it was called the Bullitt or the 5.0 SVO or the GT Dark Green Edition. Its coolness is innate and not tied to the time Steve McQueen ripped up the streets of San Francisco in a mean green Mustang back in 1968.
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"So, you're into classic cars."
He settled behind the wheel. The minute he turned the key the radio exploded with Marvin Gaye. Byron turned it down to a murmur before cruising through the lot.
"Sixty-five Mustang with a 289 V-8. A car like this isn't just a mode of transportation. It's a commitment."
"Really?" She liked the creamy white bucket seats, the trained-panther ride, but couldn't think of anything more impractical than owning a car older than she was. "Don't you have to spend a lot of time babying it, finding parts?''
"That's the commitment. Runs like a dream," he added with an affectionate stroke to the dash as he merged into traffic.
Holding the Dream