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When I first moved to Los Angeles, I was driving a '79 Custom Cruiser station wagon I had bought from my brother for $1. Needless to say, the car was not in great shape; it left a trail of smoke all the way from Canada to LA.
I remember sitting at a red light in Pasadena as an old lady walked across the street. She took one look at my car, wrinkled her nose and raised it about three inches before continuing across the intersection. I guess in a land where people are judged by the car they drive I ranked somewhere below pedestrian!
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