Sunlight bronzes my skin, wind knots my hair, and G-forces overwhelm the muscles in my neck, straining to keep my eyes level. 730 horsepower tears through four Pirelli P Zero tires but is effectively managed by a set of carbon ceramic brakes. An already pancaked silhouette becomes a crepe as speed increases and the supercar’s aerodynamic elements take effect. In just three seconds, the Aventador S Roadster notches 60 mph, and were it carousing on roads straighter and longer; it would see 217 mph before running out of breath. Now snaking along the storied Mulholland highway, I ease my grip on the perforated leather wheel. Within the Aventador’s Ego drive mode, I tune the suspension and steering for comfort, and the powertrain for performance. In this configuration, I mellow the drama without muting the music. It’s an eight-mile trek to Soho House – just enough time to slow my pulse. I arrive at Little Beach House, Malibu still fighting my own grin. My bright orange supercar taunts a parking lot filled with silver S-Classes and black 7 Series’. I feel like Rodney Dangerfield at Caddyshack’s dinner soirée — the life of the party has arrived, and the valet knows it. She looks stunning, as usual – my date, that is. A hostess with a hairstyle that must take hours to perfect escorts us to a table overlooking the water. It’s a brilliantly clear day – evidenced by Catalina’s visible features on the horizon. As we sip our espressos and chat about our weekend plans, my mind wanders to my automotive maestro. No doubt, I experienced intense creative energy this morning, but was there more to be extracted? I should take a long way home — just to be sure.  Lamborghini.  Words and Photos By Miles Branman.