Writing Exercise - It keeps me sharp

The one thing that I remember wanting back from my childhood was my Dad's 85 Mustang GT. The Car was long, sleek and shiny the recent paint job of soft milky white made the sun glint off it, giving it the look of something magical, and the deep red racing stripe down the middle and along the side was a testament of its raw power. The thick black tires, slightly worn down from excessive driving, had specks of dirt and grime mashed into its treads giving them a slightly unkempt look, but at the same time the large, white, pristine Michelin logo proved that they were still loved and cared for. The inside of the car had a soft, faint smell of leather and oil, and the cushy red seats and the cramped interior gave the driver a feeling of being one with the machine, while providing the passenger with a welcome snug feeling. The second you put the key in the ignition and turned the car roared to life in what I can only explain as an ear clamping moment. It vibrated with excitement as it longingly waited for you to push that gas peddle to the floor. I cared and loved for this car almost as much as my Dad did, but as the story of life goes good things never lasts. The car was sold to buy a more economical, safe, and reliable car, "a family car," as my Mom would later put it. So I never got to experience the thrill of driving this machine of raw power. But, through pictures and stories I got the feeling of becoming one with the road, to have my heart race as I'm crusing down I-40, to feel like I'm not driving a crap 84 Volvo Sedan. Not that there's anything wrong with that.