My first street race!

🎭 Here’s a raw, cinematic monologue from the cockpit of a 17-year-old adrenaline junkie, gripping the wheel of his 1970 Dodge Duster 440 as the Chevelle SS 454 looms beside him at the line: --- Interior – Night – Two-lane blacktop. The world narrows to headlights and heartbeat. Voiceover: “This is it. This is the moment they write songs about—or obituaries. My knuckles are white on the wheel, sweat soaking through my Letterman jacket like it’s trying to escape. The Duster’s idling like a caged animal, 440 cubes of fury begging to be unleashed. Across the line, that Chevelle SS 454 looks like it wants to eat me alive. Chrome teeth. Big block heartbeat. It’s not just a car—it’s a damn executioner.” “I can hear Coach’s voice in my head: ‘You’ve got potential, kid.’ Yeah, potential to wrap myself around a telephone pole at 120 mph. What the hell am I doing? I should be at home, writing that English paper on ‘The Crucible.’ Instead, I’m living one.” “The light’s about to drop. My foot’s twitching on the throttle. I swear I can feel my future hanging in the air like burnt rubber. College? Jail? Hospital? Glory? All of it’s riding on this launch.” “I glance at the Chevelle’s driver. He’s older. Confident. Probably has a beard and a felony. I’m just a kid with a death wish and a torque monster my uncle helped me rebuild. I tell myself the Duster’s lighter, meaner. But deep down I know—this isn’t about horsepower. It’s about guts.” “Green.” “I bury the pedal. The world explodes. Tires scream. My soul leaves my body and rides shotgun. And somewhere in the chaos, I realize—I’m not scared of dying. I’m scared of losing.” ---