The term "Body by Fisher" was still around when I was a kid, and imparted a strange sense of mystery - the car was a Chevy, but the body was by Fisher? How did that work? Did Chevy buy them and put them on, or did Fisher come in and install the body with its own crew of aloof, silent, immaculate techncians?

The Depression seems to have hit these people like a sack of feathers.There's Mater on the left, still regal despite decades of opiate abuse; the Plain Sensible One in the middle whose father is simply loaded, practically owns Montana, don't you know, and the Wild One on the right, who likes the driver to slow down when they pass a bread line so she can look at the men. When they meet her gaze they have that look of hatred and desire she simply finds irresistable. It's so primal.

All the women look a little self-conscious, don't you think? The one in the middle looks like she's trying to ignore a mob as best as she can. Fear only encourages them.