turps

It wasn't easy being a custom built kit car. For a long time JC had been the envy of all his friends, tricked out and modified in the latest style. Horns would beep as he drove past with his psychedelic swirling fabric seats, and his glossy pink paint with the zebra print detailing.

He was king of the roads.

And then he wasn't. He was too much, too garish and despite being toned down - re-painted a dull grey, the naked ladies peeled from his bonnet -- one day he was attached to a tow truck and driven away.

Trying to protest, JC honked his horn, tried to lock his wheels, but it was no good. All he could do was close his headlights and be taken away.

"Back him up."

Pulled out of a dream of a sweet VW Beatle with the sleekest of curves, JC looked around, saw the piled up remains of many cars. Tangled and misshapen and when JC was parked next to a doorless Audi, he wanted to cry.