My first car was a beige Volvo station wagon.
She screamed PTA.
But the guys at Crutchfield helped me fit some pretty beefy 8 1/2 inchers in the hatchback.
With the windows down, you could hear me coming.
It was absurdist cool. Like a really lame T-shirt from the thrift store. Somehow, by acknowledging the lameness, you make it cool.
I remember the feeling of leaving the HighSchool parking lot...crusing by the walking freshman, with NWA's "Dopeman" blaring from the deck.
*That* was freedom.
june 11, 2000
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