In my college days, I slept in many a strange place: an aerobics room in a mansion in a Dayton suburb, a hotel bed with four other people after getting drunk at a haunted house, and, perhaps my favorite, on a dining room table with a paper towel blanket. Never, however, have I slept in a stranger’s car just for kicks, but, of course, I’ve never known anyone with a Tesla who’d make that offer. Until now.
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