Ramona here, and maybe it’s because of where and when I was born, but I have an unabated love for redneck boys and their toys. AKA muscle cars, heavy metal American. I learned to drive in a 1964 Impala (white with red interior), and I cried when my dad traded it for a driveway.
My own first car was a 1973 Dodge Duster, which I drove for six years. Not particularly powerful, but that little 6 cylinder went airborne a couple of times.
You know that roaring sound cars on TV make when they leap into the air? They really do sound like that when all four tires leave the ground. Ahem.
So when I needed a particular muscle car for my new book (working title: Murder in Progress), I narrowed it down to either a 1968 Pontiac GTO or a 1969 Dodge Charger. I asked my FB folks to vote, and the GTO won, no contest. Sorry, Bo.
The car had to be orange. The front seat had to be wide-spread buckets. The back seat needed to be roomy, as did the front passenger floorboard. And in the first chapter, you get to “hear” that delightful roar.
But you’ll have to read the book to find out why.
More later. Promise.