So my Father has been working on this Dart for 3 years. He has been telling me that its mine for a year now, mainly because his first borne, my assh$%e brother, the one hes been building it for, told him he wouldnt be caught dead driving it because it's a 66 not a 65. I know right.... So the next thing I know, my dad says he's selling the Dart. I said screw that, you have too much of you invested in it, I'll buy it first, how much do you want? Now nothing will do but the Dart is mine .. he wont accept $, it's some kind of family heirloom. Really... the jokes on me... truthfully I wasn't keen on the body style, ... but its grown on me... for so many unforeseen, blood and sweat soaked reasons. Truthfully... today... You'll have better luck trying to peel my AR out of my cold dead fingers than the keys to this Dart. But I digress. There's so much more to this story. More to follow about how and when my dad passed her to me, why... and how unprepared I actually was.