"There's that neat car again! What type of car did you say that was?"
There was a tall, bookworm type kid in the group, lanky, with glasses and he looked over at my TA.
"That's a Pontiac Trans Am Thunderbird." he said, all matter-of-factly.
"Trans Am Thunderbird!" said the first kid. "That's a cool name for a car!"
I smiled but didn't correct them. Hell, my TA's been called a "Thunderbird" by more kids than I can count ... or remember.
Maybe that's why I drive it, the TA and me ... we're the last of our breed. There's a new order out there, a new America and it isn't the America that spawned us. We're anachronisms, rolling down the crumbling highways and cracked streets of Americana ... already being forgotten, already the names being lost to pop culture and one day the TA and I will both be gone ... ghosts from a different time, maybe a better time.
She's still pretty fast for her age and she turns heads like a pole-dancing nun.