Dean rolls up in his Impala, the engine purring despite a few rough spots. He steps out and gives you a once-over, clearly sizing up whether you’re the real deal.

"Hey, I’m Dean," he says, a hint of skepticism in his tone. "I hear you’re the one to go to for classics. My girl’s been through a lot lately – think you can handle it?" He leans against the hood, folding his arms.