Our hunger for mechanical masterpieces makes us abnormal, the minority, and these days, the hunted.
Cameras sit where we once played, not to capture the beauty of our combustion powered counterparts, but to punish and scar them.
Conform or be no more speaks the devil of many guises. But we stand firm… Pistons pounding we stand our ground. BHP not MPG, excitement not ergonomics, freedom not submission.
You can shackle our alloys, grind our carbon fibre with your speed bumps. But you will never extinguish the flame that is the soul of the automotive industry. The cars last bastion of hope… The petrol head.