Those sons-of-bitches over there ain’t buying. Every yard gets ’em. They’re lookers. Spend all their time looking. Don’t want to buy no cars; take up your time. Don’t give a damn for your time. Over there, them two people—no, with the kids. Get ’em in a car. Start ’em at two hundred and work down. They look good for one and a quarter. Get ’em rolling. Get ’em out in a jalopy. Sock it to ’em! They took our time.
Owners with rolled-up sleeves. Salesmen, neat, deadly, small intent eyes watching for weaknesses.
Watch the woman’s face. If the woman likes it we can screw the old man. Start ’em on that Cad’. Then you can work ’em down to that ’26 Buick. ’F you start on the Buick, they’ll go for a Ford. Roll up your sleeves an’ get to work. This ain’t gonna last forever. Show ’em that Nash while I get the slow leak pumped up on that ’25 Dodge. I’ll give you a Hymie when I’m ready.
What you want is transportation, ain’t it? No baloney for you. Sure the upholstery is shot. Seat cushions ain’t turning no wheels over.
Cars lined up, noses forward, rusty noses, flat tires. Parked close together. Like to get in to see that one? Sure, no trouble. I’ll pull her out of the line.
Get ’em under obligation. Make ’em take up your time. Don’t let ’em forget they’re takin’ your time. People are nice, mostly. They hate to put you out. Make ’em put you out, an’ then sock it to ’em.
Cars lined up, Model T’s, high and snotty, creaking wheel, worn bands. Buicks, Nashes, De Sotos.
Yes, sir, ’22 Dodge. Best goddamn car Dodge ever made. Never wear out. Low compression. High compression got lots a sap for a while, but the metal ain’t made that’ll hold it for long. Plymouths, Rocknes, Stars.
Jesus, where’d that Apperson come from, the Ark? And a Chalmers and a Chandler—ain’t made ’em for years. We ain’t sellin’ carsrolling junk. Goddamn it, I got to get jalopies. I don’t want nothing for more’n twenty-five, thirty bucks. Sell ’em for fifty, seventy-five. That’s a good profit. Christ, what cut do you make on a new car? Get jalopies. I can sell ’em fast as I get ’em. Nothing over two hundred fifty. Jim, corral that old bastard on the sidewalk. Don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Try him on that Apperson. Say, where is that Apperson? Sold? If we don’t get some jalopies we got nothing to sell.
Flags, red and white, white and blue—all along the curb. Used Cars. Good Used Cars.