I don’t have a driveway. I have a Boston street-parking anxiety disorder. Still, my brain insists on running a full-time fantasy garage while I’m circling Fenway at 11:30 p.m. hunting for a spot. These are the cars I either drive now, have borrowed, or obsessively Google between Red Line delays — with stats, vibes, and exactly how they’d survive our potholes, snowbanks, and Dunkin-fueled chaos.
Perfect Boston starter car energy: parallel parks like a shopping cart, still zippy enough to beat that bro in the lifted truck off the line at a short green.
This is the sensible friend who always brings a coat. Ugly-ish, yes. But in February on Mass Ave when the snow’s half-melt, it just keeps going and barely sips gas.
High if you street-park, low if you have a charger
Feels like piloting a really smug iPad. Stupid quick in the Ted Williams Tunnel, but hunting for charging in winter with 3% battery left is a whole horror genre.
Absolutely useless for Costco, absolutely perfect for a dusk run along Storrow with the roof down and some jazz on. You feel every crack in the road and, weirdly, love it.
Feels like a very polite tank. Heavy, quiet, and weirdly quick. I test-drove one in the rain and it felt like driving a Scandinavian apartment through Back Bay.
Tiny truck that parks like a car. My inner Home Depot dad loves the bed; my actual city self loves that it doesn’t drink gas like a frat guy at the Lansdowne bars.
High for parking, low for literally everything else
Unironically obsessed. It’s a living room on wheels. If I ever abandon street-parking pride and move out of the city, this is my ‘pick up friends and all their gear for a Sox game’ chariot.
TheLysts
