Smoke

Have you ever gone out to the garage, slid behind the wheel of that Bowtie, twisted the key and lit off that big Rat … Rolled out to the middle of the culdesac, two clicks down into low, left foot over the brake while you slowly depress with the right ... And just as the squeal of the tires begins to stir the neighbors, you hammer the accelerator until it starts to dimple the sheet metal in the floor beneath ... You see Bill come running out his front door just as you lose sight of his house in the rearview thru the billowing clouds of white smoke now forming ... Mothers rush to scoop up their children and pull them to safety as you slowly release your left foot and begin to have to steer now to keep her straight ... Wheel to the left, then to the right, as you start to pick up forward momentum, while watching the tach bounce around the redline and then slowly start to fade downward ... The smoke entering the car's interior starts to burn your eyes as you squint and struggle to keep your focus on the now hazy landscape ... Right hand ratchets up once into second as the rear tires continue to scream in protest and things start to speed by with just a little more urgency than moments before ... Finally she starts to hook and the G's start to press against your chest as you hesitate, take in a small breathe, and then click up one more gear ... The steering wheel feels light in your hands as you tighten your grip and, even though the smoke has vacated the interior, you still struggle to see clearly due to your pupils being flattened by the blinding rate of acceleration ... Finally, unwillingly, you lift, as better judgement overcomes raw desire ... Three blocks later the tires have cooled and the smoke has dissipated, but your heart rate is still 30 beats faster than normal ... And as you sit at the red light, you take a deep breath to try to regain some composure and glance over to the little old lady in the Caprice next to you ... And you say to yourself ... “You think she wants to run?"