There's nothing flimsy about the '49 Plymouth - it's post-war technology, solid as a tank. The seats are comfy, the steering wheel's wide, and the steel doors shut with a lovely, bass thunk. Lately, in this slow, chill spring, it's Evinrude's favorite place.

He follows the sun - the roof at mid-morning, the hood (where it's cooler) in mid-afternoon, then topside again as evening falls. All around, in the morning glory vines, the jacaranda, the palm and banana trees next door, birds are busy.

Rudy watches, sometimes sits to let them know he's there, but mostly sleeps, obeys his personal muse.