It’s hard out there if you love cars and you’re tall.
I once owned a 1988 Mercedes-Benz 560 SL, like the kind Richard Gere would have driven in a moody Seattle fog during his Intersection days. It was a very cool car, but not a good fit for me. Literally. Well over six feet tall in my customary boots and some sort of hat, I would have to tilt my head and slouch any time I needed to see the stoplight turn green. Which, as you might imagine in a city like Los Angeles, is rather often.