If you’re a longtime reader of Dopest, you likely know my stance on muscle cars: The more broken, the better. There’s a gorgeous ’68 Camaro that lives somewhere near my apartment, beaten and broken and rotting in its street-parked spot around the corner, and I salivate over it every time I pass by. This ’68 may be even better.
Sure, it doesn’t have an “engine” or a “transmission,” and the paint looks like the time I tried to rattlecan a scale model of a Camaro as a child, but that’s what makes it so good. Old muscle cars shouldn’t be pristine, they need enrichment.