This is the only one who understands me. I am the only one who understands them. One fast car with large turbos and sharp edges. One who does belong here but is not here. One raggedy excuse planted by the police. From the street, we are heard, but people drive by and don't appreciate these things.

Their power is secret. They send ferocious downforce to the ground. They go up and they come down and grip the road between their grippy tires and reach for the sky with violent torque and never quit their trying. This is how they drive.

Let us forget its reason for being, they’d all leave like boost in a turbo, each with their hands around the steering wheel. Pop, pop, pop the exhaust goes when I downshift. We show.

When I am too sad and too scared to keep keeping, when I am a helpless being against so much stress, then it is I look at my car. When there is nothing left to grip with on this street. One who drove despite weather. One who pushed and do not forget to shift. One whose only reason is to drive and drive.