I remember the halt as the ratcheting handbrake was yanked before the mouth of my family home. My 15-year-old self thought it was a dream to have a ute with as much character as Caden’s 4×4. The roar of the engine on any highway would dominate even a yelling conversation, so we rightly called the rusty, leviathan “Aslan”. It’s odd to think of how it was even possible to hear each other when Aslan’s mechanic ...

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