SELLING OUT THE BOSS
COULD THERE BE A MORE PERFECT TIME for a car to imprint itself on a young man’s psyche than when he’s in high school? It almost doesn’t matter what that car is — it could be a hand-me-down from a relative, it could be a junker purchased with pocket change scraped out of the seat cushions. The idea that it’s yours is what’s most important. A car becomes so many things at once — a means to escape, a means of entertainment for you and the select friends of your choice, and a party trick that makes gasoline vanish in a puff of smoke, all rolled into one. It signals the disappearance of youthful indiscretion and the oncoming onslaught of adulthood, with all of the responsibilities implied therein. Jim Boyd knows all of these feelings, and he remembers the car that made him feel that way. It was a ’69 Mustang Boss 302. Boss 302. He wasn’t the first owner, but the way it lodged in
