Most of you have probably heard the story before, but when I was just able to walk, I painted a nice fat white racing stripe on my Dad's Datsun 280Z. With a roller and house paint. I can only imagine the pain my father felt, as he loved that car. So much in fact, that whenever — and I mean whenever — we would pass Universal City Nissan he would point up to the top left hand corner of the lot that faced the 101 and say, "That's where my Z was, right there." being young and dumb, my sister and I would typically reply with, "We know, Dad! You always say that!" Only now do I realize just how important that particular spot is, and how I would give anything to hear him tell me again.
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