Eli nodded slowly. He walked to the service bay, pulled the tarp off the RX-3. Dust motes swirled in the dim light. The paint was chalky, the tires flat, the chrome pitted. But the lines—those perfect, shark-like seventies lines—were still beautiful.
The car was a 1973 Mazda RX-3, painted a faded “Strato Blue” that had gone the color of a twilight storm. Its Wankel rotary engine hadn’t turned over since the first Bush was president. Eli kept it under a tarp in the old service bay, next to a lift that hadn’t been certified since 2009. mazda indian springs
She didn’t cry. But Eli did, just a little, watching her pull out onto Highway 19, the blue car shrinking into the distance like a piece of sky come unmoored. Eli nodded slowly
The dealership didn’t suddenly become profitable. But that fall, a kid from Atlanta drove two hours to buy the old Miata after seeing a video Eli posted of the RX-3 resurrection. And Maria stopped talking about closing up shop. The paint was chalky, the tires flat, the chrome pitted