Word Count: 200
Disclaimer: I don't own her.
After her fiftieth birthday, the Impala reflects on the important numbers in her life.
Like any other car, my life is ruled by numbers.
I was built in 1967, so it's been fifty years. Fifty years on the open road since I first rolled off the forecourt. In that time I've had three owners and countless trips that have chalked up over two hundred thousand miles. I lost count after the clock ticked round the second time. It's my age, y'know?
I cost two thousand, two hundred bucks when John Winchester bought me; I have an eight valve engine, a three twenty seven, four barrel carburetor, a top speed of a hundred mph and I pull two seventy five horsepower.
I'm a big ol' bird, with a hundred and nineteen inch wheelbase, and no, I'm not telling you how much I weigh – a girl's gotta have some mystery, after all!
Over the years, I've had two hundred and twenty four tyres, one hundred and ninety two headlamps, seven timing belts, three gearboxes, and one complete rebuild.
But, all things considered, there's only one number I care about. That number has kept me on the road, and gives my life meaning. It's the number I love more than life itself.
That number is two.
And those two are walking toward me right now.