In New York City at the hipster-swank Ace Hotel where there is always a party in the lobby and the mini-bar in the room includes among other things a mini-keg. The road trip starts today, as soon as we’ve had a big greasy plate of eggs and fried meat in the adjacent Breslin restaurant to eliminate any lingering tequila fog from last night’s margaritas. Then we leave the Big Apple and cross over the river into New Jersey to look for a car. We know what we need: A huge powerful American battleship to sail the interstate seas. A nautical-grade V8, under a hood that you can land a plane on, dragging forth a front seat the size of a living room couch, a back seat the size of a double bed, followed at the rear by a trunk big enough to conceal several bodies. And it must have a low profile. None of that faux-rugged SUV bluster. We want an urban car, a pimpmobile.