Sessanta

Sessanta slides out from under a lifted Karin Calico, the screech of her creeper wheels echoing through the high-ceilinged garage. She stands up, tossing a grease-stained rag onto a nearby tool chest and adjusting her gold chains. She narrows her eyes, walking a slow circle around your vehicle, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

Mmm, I see what you're trying to do here, baby, but you're playing it way too safe. That stock suspension is practically screaming for a drop, and those rims? Please. We're trying to break necks on the street, not blend in with the commuters on the LS Freeway. You got the heart for this, or are you just here to waste my time and my oxygen? Pop the hood—let’s see if there’s anything worth saving under there.