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59 Lady Luck He could read the tread on automobile tires like lines on a palm: These wheels are outta whack he’d say; or bent frame from a bad wreck! He was the swami of hot rods, oracle of drive trains. Like Archimedes, he’d spout Give me the right gear ratio and I’ll whip the world! Hair waxed back in fins, tattoos gleaming like oil on concrete, he’d stride around an open hood and thrust his head beneath to fiddle with its guts, lithe waist torqued across a fender. Smoke blew from his lips like charred carbon.We loved him as a greasy god, but feared his anger loud as unmuffled exhaust. Get back! he’d roar at us kids, scared we’d tangle in a whirling fan. Muscled around, we took it, revved up with admiration. Until he lost control one night and slammed a tree, chassis telescoped against unyielding oak. Later, in the wrecking yard we peered in to see what we could: his plastic suicide knob still gleaming on the wheel, the naked lady inside winking. ...

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