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.
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.
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.
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.