For years I had watched you covet this gem of an automobile and it hadn’t escaped my attention this particular model was manufactured in the year you were born; as you had so often told me, timing is everything.
And of all the cars ever designed I could see why this was still deemed the most beautiful. You opened the door, inviting me to step in. The bespoke leather interior you had chosen had smelt brand new and though luxuriously soft to the touch, it hadn’t yet had the chance to yield to my shape.Before starting the engine I watched as you took your time appreciating the craftsmanship; the delicate stitching and emblem on the steering wheel, the understated styling of the dials, the reassuring strength and ergonomic design of the handbrake.
I hadn’t understood why you wanted that first drive to be at dawn, taking the route I was so familiar with, left down Bowmont, along Montague and up toward the crest of the botanical gardens. As we reached the summit the convertible had purred, fully capable in its ability and the city skyline had opened up in front of us. Even at that time in the morning the sun rise had begun to warm the city, the ochre yellow and burnt orange hues had dazzled
I remember inhaling slowly and deeply, noting your signature scent that somehow reflected this sleek machine; your maturity deepened by experience, your natural and easy confidence. From memory I could pick out smoky traces of cedarwood and musk, something warm like lavender, a citrus freshness, perhaps lime.