
This, my friends, was my first car. Not the same kind of car as my first car, but the actual one -- we sold our '66 Mustang convertible to the man in the driver's seat.
Damn, she was sweet, and oh, how I abused her! We would go out biscuit doughing* in this car, just to get angry people to chase us. This car had a Pioneer sound system that disturbed neighborhoods I wasn't even driving through, and had a modified 289 engine that would fly. It's where I first jammed The Sex Pistols, Killing Joke, Oingo Boingo, The Smiths, Gen X, Billy Idol, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cramps, King Crimson, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Flock of Seagulls and many others.
Its windshield was once smashed by a redneck with a tire tool who I had fucked with on the hallowed grounds of Harding Academy. And one perfect night in late summer of 1985, I was driving around with the top down, listening to ZZ Top with an adult friend who tried to impress upon me the specialness of what we were doing. I didn't get it then, but now I do.
Ah, youth is wasted on the young!
*An activity that involved throwing biscuit dough at the windshields of cars driving in the opposite direction, to invoke outrage that would cause targeted cars to try to catch us. Some chased, but never did catch us, not even the cop car we once inadvertently hit.