It's Saturday night. The air reeks of transmission fluid, scorched steel and horse manure. A man jumps up and down on the roof of his car like a chimpanzee on a Samsonite. John Denver warbles "Sunshine on my shoulders . . . makes me hap-py" from tinny loudspeakers. Another man sheds his shirt and lays into his car with a sledgehammer. The thuds overpower the music, echoing into the night like a .357 in an elevator shaft. This is what makes these men... More >>>