We passed this car on the street, and we weren’t the only people who stopped and stared-- though we might have been the only ones who took pictures. It was too sexy to ignore and it was something I’ve never seen before. So like a proper stalker we researched it, and found its name, the Wiesmann. we will just call it “the sh*t” for short.
Not sure who the ‘baller’ was who parked it near the cathedral in plain site. I like to think he was some ugly troll, who needs the car to validate his manhood (it’s only right to even the odds). But it is a better guess that he is some modern day playboy--with blond to boot, who parks his car on odd blocks to mock the have-nots. But I am not a hater… I can’t knock your hustle. I bet you rub you interior leather on the weekends, and rush through the city streets in his BMW on the weekday, you know really slumming it. I am going to live vicariously, because even if I could afford it, I would still have that driving manual sports car hiccup. Because the Wiesmann doesn’t seem like it purrs, it seems like it roars.
*ms. b
*Originally Published in Jil Mag: January- Black Ice issue; 1/3/07
Labels: Wheels
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