racing to work to get to no where

He can feel the power stroke of the engine forcing the piston into another down stroke cause the rpm's to continuously rise. There is nothing better than watching the speedometer increase. The feel of G's forcing your body back in your seat. He releases the steering wheel with his right hand in order to shift into 3rd gear. Never raising his right foot during the depression of the clutch so is not to loose any revolutions during shifting. He quickly pulls the shifter out then back in to gear with the slightest touch of the clutch to help it back in followed by that beautiful noise of pressure release coming from the external blow off. Its that noise that is telling the measly Naturally aspirated teenager in the next lane that this race was won before it was started. To bad he’ll never be able to show anyone this…

“What the fuck are you doing?” His wife hollers with that scratch in her voice. The one you get when you have no control over the inevitable and you feel life is about to come to a crashing ball of twisted metal and fire. “This isn’t the #*#%%* Indianapolis 500 this is Canal street!!!”

This woman will never understand me. She thinks this is me playing around this is training. I will be there. One day I will be there. No one can stop m…..

The car comes to a grinding holt and stalls… &((*(& she pulled up the E-brake. Well it was fun while it lasted. Oh look at that she timed it just right. Were now perched neatly on the white crosswalk line of the next light.

What do you know its red.