Really though, all I'm thinking about is the purple glowy neon that he has rigged up along the floorboards and how nicely it augments the words "My Bitches" he has written in cursive along the passenger side door. And then I think about all the classy ladies one would be able to attract in a purple glowy low-rider with bad paint and a chain steering wheel. And then I think about how it would be a miracle if anyone other than a blind person bought this car because it is a complete nightmare and why the hell would you sell a car to a blind person? That's just reckless. And it's also mean, because everyone would know that they obviously were blind and have no idea what their car even looks like, so the blind driver would be treated differently as he careened drunkenly off parked cars on both sides of the street, and I'm pretty sure that's racist so the Hillbilly better vet out his potential buyers very carefully unless he wants to be a big racist. And I'm not sure how you would vet a blind person other than by throwing shit at them and seeing if they have sonar or whatever as they bob and weave to avoid getting hit by the oranges you are chucking at their head.
And the other thing I'm thinking is that I have to pee.
I duck my head down and make a show of looking under the front axle. Another non-committal grunt from me that says "Wow, this was a very impressive and surprising squat! I cannot believe what you've done here!" but then I look back and he's got this quizzical look on his face, so I know I've just done something wrong and obviously I'm not looking at the Filbert-Mounted billiard rod or whatever it was, so I cover it up by saying "Are those 18s?" and then he smiles and tells me they aren't, they are 20s or 24s or something and it really doesn't matter, he could have said they were "asparagus" and it would've made the same amount of sense to me and I don't have a goddamn clue what we're talking about other than the fact that something, I think the rims maybe, are bigger than I had pretend-thought they were. And then he turns on the stereo and it's more rap-metal and I'm pretty sure the whole bed of the low rider is one big bass speaker and also I'm sure I'm pretty sure I'm sterile now from the massive dose of Disturbed I've just been exposed to. Ooo-Wa-Ah-ah-ah!
I nod sagely and now he's talking about torque ratios and horsepower calculations and my mind kind of glazes over so I just nod a bunch and stare at the shiny chrome skull he's using as a hood ornament and I'm wondering what I can have for dinner because we just had pizza but I'm really hungry for it and there's that new shop in town and they have a wonderful sweet sauce but they were really expensive and that's too bad, because I sure would like one of those again tonight, and then I realize he's not talking anymore and he's staring at me, and I'm still nodding so I stop, and then I smile and say something brilliant like "Heh. THAT doesn't come standard off the floor!" and then we both laugh with great whimsy and shake our heads and "hohoho" and then I go back to thinking about pizza and I wonder if they have pinapple and ham because that would go great with that sweet sauce.
* I really don't have any idea what he said. Other possibilites include "Filbert-mounted Sway Stick", "Fungal Mounted Crate Rod", and "Finger-mounted Bang Bar" and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the last one, but I was looking for an excuse to say "finger-bang" and I found one, so high-five! Way to go, Me! I'm the Richard Pryor of Pedophilia.