The car, a Rolls Royce had been around almost as long as he had, and had fared much better then he had. The long gleaming lines and spectacular leather interior, spoke of bespoke craftsmanship, that was impossible to find, in today's mass market cars throughout the world today. The appointments were neatly laid out and the mirrored burled wood loving build into the dash shows class and elegance everywhere one looked. From the leather wrapped steering wheel, to the leather seats and electric motors to adjust them to a thousand different positions for comfort.
All of this luxury , it it was death car. he thought to himself" Why couldn't it have been a old Ford, or something no one would care about? "
But he knew the truth, the car had been bad luck to everyone who had owned it. From the day it was delivered to the showroom from the factory, there had been something about it. The original owner had lost his fortune, and had to sell it to survive. From then on, every owner had finical setbacks, of one form or another. This car had cost its owners a collective total of several million dollars, and ruined as many lives. Some to the point of suicide, most to abject poverty .
Its history was well known. Yet here he sat in it. The price was too good a deal to pass up. The salesman came up, with the papers.
Six months later he was walking the streets homeless.