Porsche 909/3

Ooh... one step, one step ahead of me

First saw it under the bridge on a Sunday, no crowd, Bare aluminium, no roof, no doors, no sound. Manhattan steam coming up through the grate, Whole borough asleep and this thing wide awake. No plate, no badge, no story, no crew, Just a shape that the city had no idea what to do with. Somebody said mountain car. Somebody said fake. I said whatever it is, it don't belong at sea level. Stood there long enough that my coffee went cold, Told myself walk away. Told myself, told myself.

Ooh... one step, one step ahead of me

Saw it twice more that month and both times moving, Under the elevated, cobbles doing the talking. Never heard it start, only ever heard it leave, Which is worse, if you think about how that works. Asked around DUMBO, asked around the yards, Everybody had a cousin who had seen it, nobody had a card. Started taking the long way home just to check, Same corner, same hour, standing in the wet. That's the part I don't say out loud when I tell it: I wasn't looking for the car no more. I was looking to be near it.

Ooh... one step, one step ahead of me

Last time was daylight, which felt like a mistake, Bridge behind it, river flat, nothing in the frame but the shape. Man walked up, didn't look at me once, Got in like it was a Tuesday and pulled out slow. No wave, no rev, no ceremony, no proof, Just an empty piece of street where a legend had stood. Went back the next week. Went back the week after that. Stood in the same spot like the ground was gonna give it back. Some things you get to keep and some things you get to see. I got the second one. It stayed one step ahead of me.

Ooh... one step, one step ahead of me Ooh... one step ahead