The 2015 Mustang Finds Itself On The UWS’ Sketchiest Corner

“Pretty car,” she said turning away. “For now.”

The woman was talking about where this off-the-showroom-floor 2015 Mustang was parked. It’s the corner of West 95th and West End Avenue. It’s the first real populated, neighborhood intersection off of the speedy West Side Highway. There have been a rash of deaths right around this spot. Cabbies roaring into kids, old women knocked down, that kind of thing.

And that’s where this Mustang owner left the newest sports car out.

But there was a double meaning to what that woman said.

The 2015 Ford Mustang has moments, mere moments of fresh flashy newness left in it. The Mustang, much as it is a symbol of American desire, is also a piece of American ubiquity. Once these things hit rental car lots (and I have no doubt that due date is fast approaching), they will be as ordinary and unseen on our nation’s highways as a Bentley in Beverly Hills or a Corolla in San Diego.

A refrigerator white one like this, especially, has only a few more weeks (if not days) before it turns into The Most Uninteresting Looking Mustang You Can Buy.

But it seems like I’m the only one thinking about this looming specter of age. Today, in this fading light, it looked so new I expected it to be still soft out of the oven.

Look at that window line — it couldn’t be a Mustang, could it? Too fast, too cultured.

That’s supposed to be the story of this car, I suppose. It’s supposed to be new and sleek and European and international. It’s supposed to be appealing, really. To be purchased, I guess is the ultimate goal.

And it works. The front still looks oddly bulky in photographs where it flattens out, or when you stare right along the side of the thing. In person, though, there are perspectives where it is just a modern, fine, large sports car with a somewhat solid, expensive feel. Like an American Continental GT.

The new pavement turned aquamarine waves, the redone crosswalk lines glowed. The traffic barrels looked like buoys, the Mustang a fresh-painted ship.

I spent probably too much time shooting this car. A doorman came out and watched me as I perched high up on a railing. Other people gave me the eye. The Mustang itself nervously blinked its daytime running lights, but that may have been from a deathly-close driving Focus passing by.

What can I say? I wanted to bask in its brief moment of newness. I wanted a tiny shine of that revitalized Americanism to reflect onto me.