The underground car park was dimly lit, but the white E30 M3 stood out like a ghost against the concrete backdrop. In the heart of San Francisco, where tech meets tradition, this vintage gem was a silent rebel.
Its owner, a young guy with a passion for the classics, approached the car. He popped the hood for a quick check—oil, coolant, and the iconic S14 engine that still purred like it was 1986.
The neon lights of the city began to seep through the exit ramp, casting a glow on the car’s flared arches. He fired up the engine, its distinct growl echoing in the confined space. The old-school dashboard came to life, a nostalgic contrast to the city’s modern skyline.
He eased the M3 out of its parking spot, the manual gearbox clicking satisfyingly into first gear. This wasn’t just a car; it was a time machine. And as he rolled up the ramp, the city lights beckoning him towards the streets of San Francisco, it was as if the night itself had been waiting for this drive.