A turbojet-powered Mercedes-Benz limo with an enclosed trailer. Who would have ever guessed there’d be two of these? But damned if there wasn’t this exact combo right here in Fort Stockton, only his had the Palo Duro Canyon painted down one side and the Cadillac Ranch from Amarillo painted down the other. The poor guy spent every last dime he had on his rocket-limo-racer, to the point that he lost his house, his family, and damn near all his self respect.

Chad from over at the Piggly Wiggly remembered seeing him outside of town a while back. The guy was living in the gooseneck trailer, dirty and shabby looking, just him and his mangy labradoodle. Chad pulled his Crown Victoria over to the side of the road to check on him. The guy asked him if he could spare a couple bucks to get something to eat. Chad took out his wallet and pried out a ten-spot and started to hand it to him, but then asked the guy, “If I give you this money, you’re not going to go buy beer with it instead, are you?”

“Heavens no,” the guy replied. “I quit drinking years ago to spend every nickel I had on this dragster.”

“Will you use it to waste your time, going fishing over at Lake Leon?” Chad asked, the ten dollar bill still in his hand.

“Who the hell has time to go fishing? All my time has been tied up in making this one-of-a-kind car!” the old guy answered. “I had to hock all my fishin’ gear decades ago!”

“You’re not going to use it for green fees over at the Pitch-N-Putt instead of food are you?” Chad hammered him.

”Are you CRAZY?” the hunched over old guy yelled back?” I haven’t seen a golf course in thirty years. “It’s been nothing but paint fumes and afterburners.” He reached for the cash.

Chad pulled back the money and tightened his fist, “You’re not going to take the money over to the red light district on Travis Street and spend it on a hooker are you?” Chad pressed him.

The crusty old guy was getting exasperated. “What kind of a disease would I get for ten lousy bucks? I think the exhaust gas from this thing has impacted those abilities, anyway.”

Chad put the money back in his billfold. “I’m not going to give you the cash,” he told the craggy old man. “Instead I’m going to take you home and treat you to a home-cooked meal prepared by my wife.”

The owner of the Benzlimojetdragster looked at him in astonishment. “Won’t your wife be furious with you? I haven’t showered in months. I smell like jet fuel and body odor. I know I’m probably disgusting due to my obsession.”

“It’s okay,” Chad explained, “I want her to see just what a man looks like who has given up alcohol, fishing, golf, and sex.”

The old guy crawled into the Crown Vic and they drove off towards Chad’s house, each thinking there are some things you just can’t put a price on.