There is a hint of fall in the air. The temperature is flirting with lower numbers. It's just about that time. Time to exercise the beast. I love my Trans Am. The gleam of the shining white exterior quietly beckons me to come inside.As I slide into the supple bucket seat and grasp the steerig wheel, the beast beneath calls softly, "Let's go." The engine roars to life, pleading with its throaty rumble to get on the road. As we hit the road, I feel the wind blowing through my hair, the power under the hood,ready to be set free. Yes, I love driving topless. The looks, the wistful yearning of the young guys as they pull up the the stop light. I can read their minds as the think "My Mustang can beat your Trans Am." "Not a chance, kiddo" as I smile to myself.Off we go as the kid eats my dust.The power of the beast roars as I drive down the street. Ah yes, yet again, the kids are no match. The beast urges me on. Driving down the street, my senses are heightened. I smell crispness in the air mixed with exhaust fumes from the other cars. I can hear the roar of radios as they compete for the attention of the listeners. They are encroaching on my space. I would rather listen to the power of the beast. As I sprint throught the streets, I cannot help but absorb the freedom driving topless brings. The colors are brighter, the air crisper. The sudden change in attitude of other drivers as they dream of "what if?" As I slip through traffic I am free, no one can catch me. No one but time that is. On the way home, I think about the next time the beast and I can roam free, topless for all to see. I am already planning the next trip. I take sadistic pleasure in being the little old lady beating the young guys in their hotrods. Maybe is is a middle-age thing, maybe not. I love my Trans Am convertible. Driving topless is a great American pastime. I highly recommend it.