This really is the only way to describe it. It's a nice night here tonight, and I had to pop in to work to get some stuff done. So I decided to fire up the TR6, dropped the hood, and sped off into the night. On the way home, after dark (and after fiddling with my dash electrics for ten minutes in order to coax my headlamps into action), I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in a storefront window whilst at a stoplight. I'm in a 1970 British convertible. I'm smoking a pipe (tobacco, you naughty people). Finally, I'm wearing a nice, soft charcoal tweed jacket - with leather patches on the elbows.

Shee. How stuffily patrician can you get.

Good thing I'm a big black Jewish guy, or the picture would've been too cliched for me to handle. On the other hand, even a deerstalker hat might've compensated for that...

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