This year for Independence Day, the wife and I decided not to blow up our own fireworks, opting instead to watch the city do it for us; after all, those tax dollars aren’t going to spend themselves. However, I did run down to the fireworks stand to pick up the obligatory sparklers and morning glories to make the kids happy. It was on that sunny day one week ago that I came across this flaming beacon of freedom – the Pontiac Firebird.
It’s not unusual to spot the occasional Firebird or Trans Am around here, but seeing one this nice is a rare bird, indeed. Most 3rd-generation F-body Camaros or Firebirds I see these days are sagging, sunburnt, and slow – a little like their owners. This appears to be a 1983 model with matching gold wheels, but the experts among us can correct me if I’m wrong. All I know is I know what I like, and I like this. A lot. It’s in good shape, including the correct bad panel gaps! A few scuffs here and there, but nothing unusual for a 30-year old car.
There is nothing that says ‘Murica quite like a shiny gold, T-top Firebird, is there? I want to grow a mullet and pop in a Bruce Springsteen cassette just looking at this. The thing that makes me the most proud, though? Just as I finished taking these pictures, a teenage boy trotted out of the store and hopped in with his buddy. This kid has good taste.
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