@Stan Galat posted:
... perhaps in coastal states where intellectuals and advertising executives congregated.
But out here in the heartland they were never a thing at all.
Somewhere west of Laramie (far west of, actually) there's a mohito-hoisting, hipster account exec who knows what I'm talking about. He's bored with the belch of the V-8 and there are no stoplights on the sweep of the avenue leading to the gym when he's going high, wide, and handsome.
The truth is, the Porsche was built for him. Built for the dude whose face is brown with bronzer when the day is done of meetings and metrics and brand. He loves that the final 'e' is pronounced and doesn't rhyme with 'Borscht'.
There's a savor of bravura about that car - of privilege and power and posh - a hint of old loves and leather. Step into the Speedster when the hour grows dull with things online. Then start for the land of fantasy, imagined adventure, with the spirit of the dude who rides, credit cards maxed out, into the red horizon of a Malibu twilight.