The neighbor’s daughters are ‘of age’. One of the boyfriends regularly arrives in a self announcing silver edition Corvette. Testosterone guns his charger back fired and fueled by raucous cop-caller-pipes and a high revving V8 due mostly due to a tired slipping automatic gearbox (dad: stickshift next time, k?). The entire community is aware of his exit when he roars up the street after his visit. Mr. Pralle, tending his front yard, has witnessed this ‘outrageousness exhibition of speed’ and considers the kid an outsider thief of hearts, a young punk. Mr. Pralle YELLS OUT(and I didn’t know he had it in him – it was loud enough to drown out the din from the fleeing vette), SLOW IT DOWN!!

Taking in all this from across the action, it dawned on me that:
a) The vehicle was moving at a clip for sure but not that far over the limit. I’ve seen non-descript drab green minivans driven by harried soccer moms do better.
b) The neighbor’s rage was actually jealousy. He was longing for his own youthful past! hot car… courtship…health…vitality…thrills…irrational exuberance! He was the old bull warning the young buck from his territory. The goldenboy with open T roof blasted through, really flaunting it. Mr. Pralle hollered loud for youth he once owned but now it’s the kid’s moment. Someday he will be standing in a yard too.