There were two taxis between us and a black Porsche 944 in my driving mirror.

She was sweeping past me, moving toward the black Porsche.

She didn't say another word until he'd tucked her into the passenger's seat of his racy black Porsche.

"We haven't even seen a black Porsche," Con reminded him.

She spent a percentage of her income running an old black Porsche.

A black Porsche with less than five hundred miles on it.

Off to make the world a better place in his shiny new black Porsche.

"Do you see that man in the black Porsche?"

Opening the door, I left a tiny white dot on a neighbor's black Porsche.

I could be buying myself silk shirts pretty soon, and alligator shoes, or a fine black Porsche.