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Warning: This story is sad enough to make grown men weep...and us librarians blubber! Last Wednesday a young man agreed to sell me his '63 notchback for $1250 because he had a desperate need for quick cash. We shook hands and spit on the sidewalk (which makes a deal legally binding here) and agreed to meet the next day (Thursday) to complete the transaction. Then in my unabated excitement I notified the entire world that I owned a '63 notch. Thursday...he never showed up. Friday, ditto. Then on Saturday he called from Salt Lake City, where he had driven the notch and had sold it for (he claims) $7500! Now in my unabated mental depression I am announcing to the world that I do NOT own a '63 notch. Oh well, you lose some and you lose some. My wife assured me that the way out of a mental funk was to buy something....so I took my money and went out and bought an air compressor so I can paint her '69 FB. Hey, her suggestion works...I feel better already. Whatever else happens to me in the future, I will always know that for one brief moment in my life I "owned" a notchback. Sigh. Phil dillard@suu.edu "notchless in Utah"