Neighbor boys. Gearheads. Greasers. Late '40s Ford coupe. Vrooooom!!! Vrooooom!!! Mom didn't like it, but I did...lol. I was only 3 years old. My first hot rod memory. We lived right across from the old Catholic church. Even at 3 years old, on warm summer Sunday mornings, I'd be sure to be sitting on the porch to see all the beautiful late '40s and '50s cars pull up and line the street. This was 1960. Neighbor Larry. Gearhead. Late '40s Ford coupe. Non running. Mostly sat on the property line, sunk into the lawn. Lots of primer spots. I still thought it was cool...lol. Very elderly neighbor couple across the street. Bone stock, light gray, creampuff 1937 Chevy coupe. They never seemed to drive the car except to go to church on Sunday. I'd watch them sloooowly walk down the sidewalk to their little old wooden garage. She'd wait outside while he opened up the heavy wooden doors and back the car out. She'd get in while he closed the doors. And off they went. It ran so quietly, I could hear the slight whine of first gear as they took off. There was a guy that lived 4-5 blocks from us...the father of one of our grade-school classmates. He liked to restore late '50s early '60s Corvettes. He'd drive 'em too. They'd look kind of rough for a while...primer spots and stuff. Then, all of a sudden, he'd drive by in it and it'd be all painted and pretty. And then he'd sell it and get another crappy looking 'Vette. I saw him do this 1/2 dozen times through the '60s. Every single one got painted red with a white cove. Awesome. And I can't remember all the times my little brother and I would see some street beast rumble by the house as we'd be playin' in the front yard. We'd yell, "Lay a patch!"...and they often would...lol.