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Fast Dreams

James cut the engine and slammed his hands on the steering wheel, gripping and wanting to shake it, as the boys leapt at the car, happy and reaching in to pat him on the back.
Fucking third,he thought.
The boys were thinking the same thing, but with exclamations points.
The boys were happy. It was their best finish all season.
And that is what pissed James off.
He took off his helmet, felt the dirty sweat gripped to his head like ooze, and got out of the car.
He did smile at the boys.
He just looked at the sky and ignored everything else, but the smell of burnt rubber, always dirty in his nostrils. And he thought of the word dirty, and he thought of Jews and he thought of Niggers, and he knew dirty was a bad word, had been back as long as his goddamn mind could remember. And if what he smelt was goddamn dirty, why the fuck was he doing it?
I am 36 years old, his thoughts just continued. 36 years old.

Comments

~Autumn said…
Who cares how old you are when you're racing a fast car? Love it, as usual Q!

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