I live in a small jerkwater town. It isn't the end of the world, but on clear evenings you can see it, off to the West. It's mostly blue collar. There is some sneaky big money around, but it's generally in poor taste to let on. Lyle and I were talking about it at breakfast last Saturday. Almost invariably there will be luxury cars, and one or two restored classics parked out front. Now, the Elbow Room is small, sitting 25, maybe 30 tops - 6 booths, 8 stools and a card game going on at the round table in the corner. Everybody in the place looks like hell - like they dress down for breakfast, myself included. This noon we hit a new high. There was a blue (what else?) Bugatti Type 35 on the street. I shouldn't admit I even know what a Type 35 looks like, but because of an ill spent youth, I do. It had modern wheels and tires and the interior looks like hell. (I hope the original wheels are in the garage at home.) This thing is not restored. At all. It just belongs to some guy who gets a kick out driving it. And it is worth more than my house, even as a wreck. What the hell?