Chapter 3

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It was harder than Edwin imagined it would be to direct the Spider to the road. Not because it handled poorly—it handled like the dream it was. But as soon as he drove away from the safety of the garage, the reality of his purchase settled on his shoulders, and then farther south, sitting like a brick in his stomach.

Thirty thousand dollars.

The first year he had lived on his own, he had barely made a third of that. He didn’t even clear thirty grand until after he was twenty-five. And he knew his twenty-five-year-old self would have never believed that paying cash for a classic car and then calmly driving it home was even possible. His twenty-seven-year-old self would have found something in powder form to invest in. His thirty-year-old-self would have thought it completely impractical and irresponsible. But now he had done it. His forty-seven-year-old self had actually handed the money over and was given the title. As simple as that. No muss. No fuss.