Back at his house, Bill stands with his hands in his pockets in front of yet another Colt. No matter what the city does, he vows not to surrender.
"Why should I?" he says. "I don't want to sound dramatic, but when the city tramples over your constitutional rights, you've got to fight. I know they're going to keep working on me, but I'm going to fight them until I'm dead."
Look at this silver-and-purple Colt, he says. It has been fitted with a beefy frame, roll cage, oversized radiator and megaphone exhaust system. If it had his air-filtering device, which Bill has not been able to duplicate, it would beat the pants off of a Pinto or whatever they're racing today.
"All it needs is a few things and it's race-ready," he says.
But the way things are going now, Bill doubts the car will ever make it to the track. Instead, it seems that his perfect Colt, like the rest of his ideas, is destined to fade away.
Until the light goes out.
