I remember it perfectly, it was sixth grade. I heard General Motors had decided to give the F-body(Camaro, Firebird) the axe. A cold, jagged knife through the heart of a young, impressionable 12 year old. The Pontiac Trans Am, my very first dream car, dead at 35. You see, sixth graders have priorities, and at the top of that list is the answer to the question " How will I impress all the kids at highschool when I get my license?" Well, it was my top priority anyway, And the answer to that question was, of course, A pitch black Trans Am. Well, I am 20 years old now, and I still don't own that car. However, I have driven THE car. It was a black, 2001 WS6, six speed. It might as well have begged me to get the keys. Now I'd never driven a car with a short throw before, but the salesman at the dealership didn't really notice, he was too busy listening to the symphany of the factory exhaust. I knew it was the right car for me, I drove it maybe ten miles, and for the first five my hands were twitching, my heart pounding, and my smile stretched ear to ear. It was that sound, that awful, terrible, amazing sound. It was as if God's very own pet lion was trying to escape the engine compartment. And the kick of acceleration, holy expletive. 1st and 2nd gear will take your eyes, suck them out of their sockets, and blow 'em out your ears. The chirping of those tires, I know, I know, I definetly looked like a musclehead with a serious need for over compensation, but my God it was SO much fun. But, at $16,000, there was no way my 18 year old self could afford it, let alone the insurance. I parked the live, evil incarnation of my greatest dreams, and walked away. With one last glance over my shoulder, I opened the door to my Blazer, slammed it shut, and peeled away. That car was gone a week later, I died a little inside.