OK. I’m going to try something. You trust me, right?

Close enough. Now, close your eyes. Shit, now you can’t read this blog and it is dark and you’re alone. Sorry about that. Open your eyes. Are you back? Good.

Now, take a look at this , currently bid to $16,000 on BaT with two hours remaining. Really drink it in. I want you to imagine sliding your leather loafer-shod feet (loafers worn only for driving and kept as clean as your Caddy’s interior) across the emerald green carpet to the waiting pedals. You allow your weary, hard-working bones to sink deep into the cushy white leather seats. Your comfort is dearly earned and richly deserved:

You inhale the musty classic car scent — a mix of aging wood glue and outgassing ’70s vinyl and leather, but only briefly as you pull back the convertible top to reveal a perfect blue sky above. Sure, it takes a while to fold down, but you’ve got nothing but time. Time, and a 1976 Cadillac Eldorado convertible.

You fiddle with the heavy, real metal key and its large Cadillac emblem keychain before you drive it home into the ignition lock. The 500ci V8 roars to life with 190 horsepower and 360 lb-ft of torque. You grip the wide, three-spoke steering wheel and it feels like one of those solid handshakes that naturally morphs into a back-thumping hug from a longtime friend.

Some might think a 44-year-old car wouldn’t be filled with modern creature comforts, but this was never a vehicle meant for mere mortals. The seats and the windows? Power. The climate? Controlled.

What more do you need? You are confident in who you are: a hard-working individual who has finally achieved personal completion and wishes to see it expressed in automotive form. You maneuver your chariot down wide American streets at 20 mph. You’re in no hurry. Lesser drivers of sadder vehicles move aside in respect when faced with your Greenbrier Firemist Cadillac. You’re a known quantity on the streets of your town, a recognized minor lord of local automotive royalty. Indeed, the family crest of Antoine Laumet de La Mothe Cadillac seems to adorn every inch of your soul-bonded convertible, which makes you as close to Detroit royalty as possible without having recorded a Motown hit.

The sun is taking its time too, turning the sky pink as it buries itself into the horizon, which is good because you’ve just begun to cruise. The summer wind rakes through your hair as old-timers nod in appreciation. You’ve long ago lost track of all the thumbs-up you’ve received in this brilliant green chariot, but maybe today you earn a few winks and smiles from some attractive onlookers.

This is who you are — this car’s driver. You and the machine are one entity floating cloud-like across your domain.