Arguably, 1969 was the pinnacle year of Detroit's craziest car notions. It spawned all manner of what-ifs right there in iron, steel, and bits of aluminum. It was small bodies (small was good, small was light, small was fast) with big, hot motors thumping away under some hopelessly gaudy hood. The 440 Barracuda of that year comes sharply into focus. It was the stuff of endless daydreams, no matter where your support lay. It was your last thought before you let the car mag you shouldn't have been reading slide to the floor right before you put your head to pillow and winked out the light. It was right there in black and white.
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