Last summer, the air conditioner in my apartment died at the peak of a particularly torturous heat wave. After one night of bizarre, sweaty dreams, I woke up feeling inexplicably, yet absolutely, convinced that I needed a new car. I could taste the desire for something ludicrously fast, as if a speed demon had punched me in the face and my mouth was bleeding synthetic oil. I had the sickening feeling that if I didn’t get this car soon, I would lose my mind. What I needed had been ingrained into my brain as if from a holy edict. The car could not be anything less than completely twisted. The sort of sinister beast that would effortlessly manage 0-60 in a gasp and inspire in my passengers a psychiatrist’s delight of screamingly hideous nightmares
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2009 Subaru Impreza WRX Premium RideLust Review
