mother’s wrath. But that had never
stopped me from doing anything.
Most of these junkers weren’t
street legal. They didn’t have proper
registrations or proper number
plates. Luckily, Abel also had a
stack of old number plates in the
back of the garage. I quickly learned
I could just put one on an old car
and hit the road. I was nineteen,
maybe twenty, not thinking about
any of the ramifications of this. I
stopped by Abel’s garage when no
one was around, picked up one of
the cars, the red Mazda I’d taken to
the matric dance, slapped some old
plates on it, and set off in search of