Cadillac stopped to check out each car. A ’64 sat with its front end raised on hydraulics, the red candy paint shining under the streetlights. Next to it, a bomba sat so low you could barely see its tires. Two Euro compacts parked nearby lit up the concrete with blue underglow.
“Each of these cars has a story behind it.” His voice was low and steady. “They did what had to be done to make their ride respectable.”
He approached another car separated from the others. A Mini Cooper barely held together.
“I got three foos believing they know what something actually means… Hardcore. To Dolly Daydream, it's some dirty word. Something she and that foo Glitter label their tapes behind those not-so-closed doors.” Cadillac attempted to close the Mini Cooper’s door, but the door fell off its hinges.
“Dick Johnson’s stupid ass thinks hardcore is a good, stiff contest… finding the right opening and slipping in through the back door and shit.” He tapped the fender with his boot and it dropped. “This four-way is another chance for Dick to figure out El Rey de la Calle so he can report his findings back to C.L.I.T.”
Cadillac walked away from the car, back to the familiarity of the lowriders.
“And Deadeye? That caballero believes being a good shot from fifty yards away makes him hardcore. He thinks dodging every surprise attack for his title makes him worthy of being the Hardcore Champion.”
He surveyed the row of cars once more. Their owners rebuilt them into their own interpretation of a classic.
“Hardcore is watching your homie run away when the bangers roll up on you with baseball bats and brass knuckles. Hardcore is being pushed around and beaten by five-oh cuz you ‘matched the description’. Hardcore is having a target on your back, knowing it’s more than just a title that you lose. Knowing if you get got, vas a valer verga, that’s your life.”
“All these foos just day dreaming behind disguises, acting like this is the wild west and shit. Hardcore is what you survive. I live my life a la brava, homie. Ain’t nothing fake about Cadillac Callejero.”
“What they don’t understand is that OSW ain’t never had a motherfucker like me before. This ain’t new to me, vato. I know what it is to be outside when it’s every man for themselves. Y’all can’t even walk into The Temple without your fuckin’ partners by y’all’s sides. You step into the ring with East Los Royalty, you best figure out how to survive real quick.”
He looked at the fallen fender down the lot and let out a small chuckle.
“A new paint job makes them look brand new. Replacing an old engine with a new one makes the ride feel smooth. All these cars are classics but it’s not because of how they look.” Cadillac leaned against the hood of his own candy-painted Impala. “It’s what they’ve been through that a new coat can’t touch.”
“There’s been thirty-five reigns for this championship. Every one of them thought they defined it.”
“Shit, I was hardcore before I even stepped foot in Molvania.”