The Carol Lewis ‘56

I’m roasting alive in a parking lot somewhere in the boiling hellscape of Phoenix, Arizona—on my way back to Texas after the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing task of dropping off my baby girl at college. It’s hot. Unforgivably hot. The kind of heat that bakes you from the inside out—106 degrees in late September, like the desert decided to laugh in my face. This is madness, a cosmic joke, total bullshit.

Naturally, my mind drifts to flamed customs—because what else do you think about when your skin feels like it’s melting off your bones? And then that ’56 Chevrolet from one of those old trend books pops into my brain, a car with enough flame paint to rival this unforgiving Arizona sun.

So I dig around, scrounging for details like a scavenger in the heat-stricken wasteland, and wouldn’t you know it? The Carol Lewis ’56 wasn’t just some random piece of art—it was owned by Dean Jeffries’ high school girlfriend. That sly bastard threw on those flame licks as a favor while he was working at Barris Custom. The man was an artist, even when he was doing favors. You think you know this world, then BAM! Something new slaps you upside the head.

Hope you picked up something today too, because it’s a wild ride out here—learn fast or get burned.