Dom is elbows deep in a Jetta with a fucked alternator when he hears the familiar growl of Brian's car at the front of the garage. It's the deep-throated roar of American muscle, which still surprises him a little whenever he hears it. Brian's always been drawn to sleek lines and flash, but when he saw the hulk of the Challenger rotting in a junkyard outside Mexicali he'd grinned and said something about Miami and good times.