This 1980s Chrysler 5th Avenue lives in my neighborhood. The driver is exactly as you imagine him – a wrinkled face topped with wisps of grey hair and big glasses, wrapped up in an old man jacket. When I see him cruising by in this thing, it looks like he’s sunk so deeply into the plush buttoned seats that he’s merged into a singular car/man being.
He’s on his way out. I want to buy his car, find a limited-slip diff, cut the springs, weld in a cage, and go tear up the local drift meets in central Jersey.