The languid and hazy days of summer are upon us, dulling the senses and enveloping the mind in a sense of laziness. The desire for open top driving is strong and my prince, a 1993 , is here.

Long ago I decided no car would even be to me what my prince is, a brash and uncouth V10 with some wheels and a steering wheel attached to it. I yearn not for the so-called refinement of the supposed European automotive oligarchy. I reject it wholly.

Alas, the great tragedy of my life is that my prince and I cannot be together. Not for now at least, because my prince demands a high fiscal tribute, funds that I cannot so easily procure unless I am willing to go hungry for a year. Which—negotiable.

But you. You, dear reader, could be in a different situation than me. We are all born, but from that point on, we all embark on different paths. Yours could very well lead you toward a sweet prince of your own, such as this one on .

Having been only rarely traveled, this prince has 18,600 miles showing on its clock. It is at the peak of its youth. And even when that youth fades, the Viper will still shine.

Go forth into the sunset, lucky reader. Ride in the viciously red chariot of snarling madness, the shifter in your hand. Ride into glory. For bidding is now open.