He was no Michael Knight. And he didn’t even come close to a Magnum. Hell, even with espadrilles, he couldn’t hold a candle to Crockett or Tubbs. The sad truth was, despite what he wanted you to believe, he was no babe magnet.
And since he didn’t even know how to drive, he spent his days working it as a hood ornament; it was a pointless exercise in futility.
I’m guessing there are Jersey plates on that thing, Lindsey Y.