Birthday Present

I lifted the grey polyester car cover, and gawked at the black sports car. It was a brand-new Aston Martin Vantage, a perfect blend of elegance and class. I wasn’t a car lover, and only recognised this particular model because I’d seen it before. It was about four, five months ago. Kieran and I were taking a post-dinner walk down Sinead Road and wandered into an auto showroom. The salesperson, correctly pegging Kieran as the one with the big fat wallet, gushed on about the gleaming sports car that looked like a crouching panther. He sang praises about the ‘all-new drivetrain, platform and interior technology,’ extolled the 503hp twin-turbo V8 and something called ‘torque vectoring.’ I had no idea what any of those terms meant. I just knew it was a beautiful car, graceful, yet dangerous. ‘You like this one?’ Kieran asked. I did, but it didn’t mean I wanted to buy it. That particular piece of modern marvel in engineering came with a hefty price tag of a quarter million dollars. I dragged