Formula Racer

He’s itching, he’s twitching, he’s ready to shop. The big rigs are rolling; they’re making a stop. He’s tracking, WhatsApping, he’s all in the know. He’s topped off, he’s loaded, he’s ready to go. He scored him some soy-based down under the bridge. The goat milk awaits him just over the ridge. She’s calling, she’s balling; it’s almost all gone. His eyelids are heavy; been at it since dawn. He got to the last stop a minute too late. The guy in the Tesla scooped up the last crate. He cannot go home yet; he can’t bear to face her. He’s trying to score some; he’s Formula Racer. ---------- Echos of Cake's The Distance in my mind on this one...