The back row, against the tennis courts, had the unwritten rule of being reserved for the truly cool cars. At one point, we had a row of Cutlasses that covered every year from 1968 to 1978 with my brother covering the keystone year of 1975.

Some of the other kickass cars included a beautifully restored blue 1970 Challenger convertible and a black 1977 TransAm both on Cragar SS wheels. A handful of rich kids had late-model Camaro IROC Zs and TransAms, but I didn’t give a shit about them.

One chick used to drive a Porsche 914 that I had no true appreciation for back then like I do now. One of the burnouts in my group used to be known as “Mr. Mopar”. His cars would change from time-to-time, but his longest ride was a jacked-up 1973 440 Roadrunner (nowhere near restored) that he would roast the tires off of on a regular basis.

Those were the cars that stuck out, but the late 80s was a pretty shitty time to be into cars. I drove an 81 Aries, but my 1970 300 convertible never made it to the school parking lot. Most of us had to drive little anemic front-drive shit boxes that were handed down to us from one of our UAW-employed parents.

The car in this random photo pretty much sums it all up.