Slot cars have a definite way of changing one's perspective from time to time. Perhaps like the glass is half full or half empty, which I am often told is a matter of choice, something that pretty much negates the situation with the glass altogether. The fact of the matter is that I am not on the run in rural Mississippi during the Great Depression, as my glass would be dry as a bone and I truly would be a man of constant sorrow. Then, Ralph Stanley or the Soggy Bottom Boys never had slot cars either, but then the perspective would change dramatically with a Gibson Mastertone banjo in my hands I recon. Read more about I'm a Man of Constant Sorrow