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
s 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...