It was an accident really. They were meant to be looking for the bowling alley (the Doctor swore up and down that it was next to the library). Where they ended up was not quite what Amy had been expecting. Instead of long roads of polished wood and neat triangles of white pins, they stumbled across a small, dusty room.
The majority of the space is taken up by a blocky shape, covered in an oil-stained cloth.
"I wasn't supposed to find you again until far, far later." He pats the top tentatively, shifting the covering enough to for Amy to see a sliver of glossy black metal.
"Doctor, is that a car? Why have you got a car in here? She crouches down to lift up the cloth, slowly uncovering the perfect grille on the front of the car.
"A 1967 Chevrolet Impala." He seems dazed, unable to process. "I didn't mean to..."
"CNK 80Q3... Ohio... An American car? Oooh, Doctor, where'd you get this?"
"Her. She's actually not mine. I'm keeping her for an old friend." He pulls the cover off completely, baring the sleek shape to the soft light filtering in through the doorway.
"Oh. So she just sits here?" Amy runs her fingers over the hood, the bright crimson of her nails a striking contrast to the inky kohl of the metal.
"Until she's needed."