Silver sedans tend to disappear in the suburbs, melting into well-tended, wide-open gray pavement.
Somebody call True Detective.
That sort of semi-invisibility works fine for the forgettable Camrys and Rogues and Outbacks buzzing down new boulevards hell-bent for Tom Thumb.
Who cares about seeing another tot-toter with a bunch of family stick figures on its tinted back window — though you have to wonder what's going on in there to rate so many sticks.
But I really thought the silver 2014 Chevrolet SS I had recently might draw more envious looks than it got in my leafy new home ground in Richardson, Texas.
Most people probably presumed old Poppy was just headed to church in his gussied-up Malibu, its trunk filled with sacks of canned goods for the poor and his heart brimming with Sunday morning benevolence.
Little did they know.
To paraphrase Professor Didley, the SS might look like a farmer, but those 4-inch duals protruding from its generic rear rumbled with the distant fire of a deep-breathing 6.2-liter V-8.