My gosh, those two guys could talk cars. In the fifteen minutes it took to tow my car to the mechanic’s shop, they went through Lincolns, LTDs and their equivalent, the Chrysler Newport, Javelins, Gremlins, Pacers, Firebirds, Pintos, ’57 T-Birds, Mach 1 Mustangs, and also Mach 2. I sat between the two of them, my feet on the jumper cable booster pack. “That booster pack might give you a jolt,” Rob, the driver-in-training, joked. Scott, behind the wheel, was from Maine. He had the accent and stories about cars he’d known there. Of how a guy had taken his wife’s new Firebird to a race track and entered a race for amateurs. How another car’s tire blew out, sideswiping the Firebird. The Firebird leaves the race with dents all over it, and the engine with less than 200 miles on it. “Not even broken in,” I said. “A crime.” said Scott.