Personal Narrative: My First Car

I was fifteen years young-itching to get behind the wheel of my first vehicle. A young man’s dream is to turn sixteen and finally get the privilege of driving; the freedom involved in this privilege is just a thrill to teenagers in general. I, myself, have always wanted a car that was unlike any other car; I wanted a car that was fast, stylish, and purred like a kitten. White has always been my favorite color in a vehicle, so I kept my eyes open for a white car to call mine. Little did I realize, my brother had a white car that matched up to my expectations. It was a solid white Roush Mustang, and he had owned it ever since he was a sophomore in highschool; I never dreamed he would sell it, but somehow my dad talked him into parting with it. My dream had come true. It was white, fast, and unique; it was exactly what I had been looking for.

Ever since my younger days I had always wanted a mustang, but never dreamed I would get one as soon as I turned sixteen. Although I loved the car, it had many flaws.The smell of the inside was similar to that of a wet dog. This was due to the time my brother left the windows down, and it happened to come a rainstorm that day. This was a burden, but it could be fixed with a black ice air freshener. I would buy a three pack of these tree-shaped air fresheners and hang them around the rear view mirror giving the car a clean, irresistible smell. The mirror also reflected not only my image, but a picture of my girlfriend; this was one of my favorite features of the car, my own special touch. Every now and again, my exhaust hanger would break, causing the exhaust pipe to hit the bottom of the car; this made an awful clinking and clunking noise every time I hit a small bump. This was annoying, but it was nothing a welder could not