H22

My Prelude’s H22 sounds like my grandpa’s lungs after a 30-pack cigarette habit.

That H22 is so loud, my neighbor thinks I’m trying to start a war.

The H22 in my car is like a drunk man trying to sing opera.

My H22 is like my ex, weak and full of bad choices.

This H22 can’t even handle the Prelude’s basic failures.

The H22 in my car is like a toddler trying to drive a truck.

My H22 screams like it’s being stabbed every time I hit the gas.

That H22 is so loud, my dog ran away from the Prelude.

The H22 in my car is like a banshee at a rock concert.