I'm way past my prime, I know that now. My body is more rust than paint and my gears won't engage no matter how hard that you stamp on the clutch. But give me a chance for my heart is still good; just one turn of the key and my engine purrs. Okay, there might be a puff of smoke or two, just be careful not to inhale. Here's a challenge from the scrap-heap; with a little bit of tender loving care and a hefty injection of cash you could turn me into something pretty eye-catching. Will you dare? Or are you going to leave me here, to corrode, and rot until all that remains are perished rubber, piles of rust and a pile of nuts and bolts?
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