My Mustang is lowered three inches and for four summers I’ve been trying to get the exhaust right.

If it hangs down even 3/8” of an inch it scrapes in driveways and speedbumps. If I get it up too tight it rattles.

Saturday morning I took to fabricating. By Saturday afternoon I had a good solid fix in place, finally. Some combination of thick tire rubber, exhaust clamps and 1/8” perforated sheet metal.

My only bitch of the entire day was that can be no reason whatsoever for 1/2” bolt heads and 13mm bolt heads to exist on the same car, or in the same universe for that matter.

It was a good day spent with dirty hands and a minimal amount of knuckle blood.

It was a good day away from my phone and news, spent under my car and in my shed at the vice.

Then about 4pm, I came inside to wash up. I heard about El Paso and I worried about my daughter and her girls, not because they are in El Paso, but because I love them and it makes me sick this is the world they got.

I went to bed Saturday night annoyed at myself for being so shallow. Nineteen people we dead in Texas, yet I was happy about my exhaust fix. I figured you need to find peace and happiness where you can, in America 2019…

Then I woke up Sunday morning.