Price could very easily be seen as a stereotypical man, in many different ways — one was being weirdly entranced with sexy, vintage sports cars; with a gorgeous figure, and painted with a tint no longer available in most garages.

The vehicle was his baby, his everything — second most important thing to his job; but there could’ve been something else that was close to dethroning one of those things…

Don’t ask why, and don’t ask how, but Price ended up paying somebody to wash his car, instead of taking it to a professional — which would’ve probably been the best idea.

But it didn’t matter, not when he got to watch the show in front of him — the person covered in soapy water under the blistering rays of sunshine, sweat covering their forehead and skin.

Price had no shame sitting out on his porch, cold beer in hand; readjusting his beige cargo shorts with one hand to avoid showing the whole neighbourhood the weapon in his pocket — how could life get any better?