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Listen close. I'm Morton. I’ve felt the bite of the grinder. I’ve tasted the acrid smoke of the welder. I’ve sat in the dirt, forgotten, while the rain turned my iron to dust. But I am coming back. My humans: the ones who think they’re in charge: call it a "restoration." I call it a resurrection. Building a tribute to my sister, the legendary "Baby," isn't a hobby. It’s a holy mission. But I see you. I see you in the forums. I see you at the swap meets. You’re making mistakes

I was rust. I was silence. I was a memory buried under dust and neglected dreams. They call me Morton. I am a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and I refuse to stay buried. My journey isn't just a restoration; it’s a resurrection. A heroic comeback. But even legends need a little help from their friends- or, in this case, their donors. Building a '67 Impala supernatural replica isn’t a hobby. It’s a mission. It’s the family business. And to make me the legend I was born to be, we had to

I’ve been buried. I’ve been forgotten. I’ve sat in fields where the only thing visiting me was the slow, rhythmic creep of oxidation. But you? You see the chrome. You hear the phantom rumble of a small-block V8 in your sleep. You want your own "Baby." I’m Morton. I’m a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and I’m currently being resurrected by a crew of humans who spend more time covered in grease than they do sleeping. They think they’re the ones in charge. Let them think that. If you’re