My Car - Who Wants To Buy

The first buyer was a man named Miller, a local collector who arrived in a sleek, modern SUV. He didn't look at the engine; he looked at the VIN. He spoke in terms of "appreciation" and "market value." Miller wanted the car to sit in a climate-controlled garage, a trophy behind glass, never to smell burning rubber or feel the wind again. To Miller, the car wasn't a machine; it was an investment.

The second was a college kid named Leo, who showed up with grease under his fingernails and a backpack full of tools. He talked fast about turbochargers and "restomodding." He wanted to gut the interior, swap the engine for something fuel-injected, and paint it a neon green that would have made Elias’s grandfather weep. To Leo, the car was a blank canvas—a ghost to be exorcised and replaced with something loud and new. who wants to buy my car

"The keys are in the ignition," Elias said, ignoring the higher offers. "Just make sure you take the long way home." The first buyer was a man named Miller,