Just as knights recognized each other by colorful hooha on their shields, so we knew each other by our cars. It was talismanic and tribal. 63 Ford 396 Police Interceptor. Most of us labored under the delusion that we were racing drivers. I remember having the curious idea that 75 miles an hour was a reasonable driving speed for all occasions.
Teenage boys are dumber than mud walls.
Reflexes, God, and low traffic kept us alive. Thing is, hormones don't take no for an answer. One night I was out driving, just driving, putting gas through the engine, feeling that wild male rush to do something stupid and defiant. In a reasonable age, fellows of fifteen would have been dismembering brontosauruses, or banging on each other with funny-looking axes, or putting cities to the sword. My family didn't have much money.