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It's all admirable until some turd brain flings their door into your car and creases the heck out of it.
30 years ago I did my best to restore/save a 1966 Mustang.
It must have been less than two weeks after I helped paint it that the first door dings started showing up.
I was parking in the farthest most remote corners of the parking lots, but the a-holes always had a way of finding me.
I'll never go through that again, which is why I love my car the way it is.
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