The Huracán is a triumph, a flawlessly-executed shotgun marriage between German precision and Italian fire—that rare mixture that can propel you to over 200 mph, but allows you to actually parallel park the thing, too.
Like all dalliances with supermodels, both real and imagined, mine was over far too soon. I handed the keys back to the Lambo boys with what felt like lipstick all over my collar and a silly grin on my face. Could they tell I almost blew through the compound's exit, pointed east on I-10 and gunned it until the authorities caught me on the outskirts of Vegas? Yes, I assume they could.