That’s where Helletog was. Here in the South you do a lot of driving. It’s like the city is where you go to do certain things, but most of us live outside of it in the suburbs. There is space in the South for us to spread out and we take advantage of that. We have MARTA—which is public transport consisting of a few trains and buses—but there is no true subway in Atlanta, and if there were, it damn sure wouldn’t go to the suburbs. So we drive. Parking is plentiful, the streets are wide, and we love our cars. I have a few vehicles, but I mostly drive the Comet. I love this car. It was built back when cars were meant to go fast and last a long time. It’s older than I am. A ’66 Mercury Comet, it’s two tons of metal. Long in the hood and with a wide set of doors, it looks vaguely like a shark, menacing and sinister. The engine is a 351 Windsor, which is car talk for eight cylinders built for nothing but power and speed. Of course the car is painted black. The interior is from a Lincoln Continental, so it is plush and soft.
