My first American girlfriend (my second serious girlfriend) possessed a Pontiac Firebird.
It was red, and the doors didn't open for some reason, so getting in and out felt authentically 'Dukes of Hazard'…though this was Long Island.
I think perhaps that I now regret that I was too busy responding to the curiosity of the people around me - the 'Englishman in New York' circus act - to have fully applied my own curiosity to the milieux.
However, 80s New York did write itself into my consciousness in important ways, and much like 80s Moscow, has taken its place as one of those destinations I have chalked off, but can never return to.
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