Something happened in Philadelphia, a supercar meet-up… Ahh, Philadelphia, the only state in the world named after Phil. Philadelphia, good old Philadelphia… In west Philadelphia born and raised On the playground was where I spent most of my days Chillin’ out maxin’ relaxin’ all cool, and all shootin’ some b-ball outside of the school, when a couple of guys who were up to no good started making trouble in my neighborhood. I got in one little fight and my mom got scared She said ‘You’re movin’ with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air.

In the end, I never made it to Bel Air, I wound up in London, living in a cardboard box and working for a poxy, little hellish car blog, that is apparently read by a dog, next-door neighbors cat, and Jeff Bezos. And Carwow.

Anyway, turns out supercar car meets are pretty much like any other supercar car meet around the world. A Chance for the wealthy to lord it over the plebians. We always say here that supercars should be driven and not paraded around like a parrot. And that’s why I would personally never attend a car meet if I had a supercar.

But here’s the deal, I don’t have a supercar because I can’t afford one, time for this journalist to return to the cardboard box. And later tonight get on my knees and beg for money to survive in this cruel, cruel world. That’s London, that’s life.