I have long lusted after owning a Maserati Quattroporte, which to me seemed to be the last (non-Bentley) word in luxury touring cars:
It combines everything I like about cars: exquisite styling, a sumptuous interior and, lest we forget, a Ferrari-derived 3.8-liter V8 engine.
This morning, however, I took an Uber passenger to the airport, and in chatting about cars, I mentioned my yearning for the above Mazza.
“Nah,” was his comment.
“Quality isn’t that good.”
“It’ll break down every week?” I said in jest.
“Not every week…”
I should point out that said passenger was once a senior exec at Maserati USA.
So much for that dream.