Not For Sale

I recently had one of those encounters you read about so often, it seems like a cliche. I was off to meet a friend who lives a few towns away. He was in the process of moving out of state and I wanted to get some pictures of the '67 Nova wagon he had put so much work into (nice ride, and a post for another time). Driving down the main drag, I caught the telltale glimpse of some sheet metal that screamed "pre-seventies". Sinking into the soil next to a small commercial strip of buildings was a mid-fifties classic, whose make I won't mention (feel free to insert the vehicle of your choice). There was something sprayed on the windshield that looked like the remnants of a price. My curiosity getting the best of me, I pulled a quick u-turn, figuring it was at least worth stopping to ask the ineveitable. As I entered the small office next door, I wondered how many had come before me with the same inquiry. The older gentleman explained that the car had been his. Twenty five years ago, he had parked it there and given it to his son who was going to restore it. The car had not moved since. Of course it was not for sale. The faded white lettering wasn't a price, but rather a faded, scrawled "No". As for the brief knowing glance that passed between father and son... was that the look of resignation or bemusement?