I knew the Porsche I was driving accelerated well, but how fast was it in reverse I wonder. Selecting reverse and applying gas the car lurched backwards, making a whining noise in the ill-lit grocery store's parking lot. I snapped the wheel left, making the front end of the car drift around into a compact U-turn. Adam stumbled in and we leave towards Coldwater Canyon, back to Beverly Hills. What was supposed to be a trip to the store for beer and snacks turned into $100 worth of peppermint cookies, hot dogs and other drunk-sessories.
The cool air was intensified by the convertible's drop top and my thin t-shirt. The hairs on my arms stood on goosebumps and hightened my sense of feeling. We roar off into the dark abyss past homes of millionaires and their un-recycled garbage. The sinewy road tacked back and forth up like a sailboat in low wind; climbing deeper along potholed road and tiny turn offs.
The car felt light and planted and my head abuzz with strong drink, I turn up the electronic music to drawn out any thoughts of "too much" and flick the triptronic transmission, upshifting a gear and tracing along another bend. When the car began to slide sideways, I steered into the slide and corrected the skid before hitting anything of value.
We arrive onto Mulholland Boulevard, a beautifully engineered piece of road named after the man who brought Los Angles water from the north. With water came agriculture and people. We pass the poverozzi who perch on the hillsides waiting to chase some celebrity into West Hollywood or Santa Monica. The Porsche adheres to the ground like Velcro. Days later Adam parks the car near a party and someone keys the hood.
While everyone talks about how fast Porsche's are, no one mentions how much fun can be had with reverse.