The silver rim of the shift knob sparkled in the dome light.
My engine purred expectantly. It was beautiful night within the city limits.
The apartment buildings stood like complacent peacefulness.
The line of white power across my dashboard was so appetizing. Completely irresistible.
I remember distinctly, (Oh so distinctly) the way the tiny glass tubes clanked as I returned their brother to them.
The white line stood out against my cars dark, black, soulless interior.
(Soulless or soulful? It's so hard to tell.)
I fingered the straw nervously. I remember my stomach flip flopping so many times.
"There's no turning back from this now."
I kept telling myself that. Every one of our races, I did.
The other racers were in their cars around me... Preparing, as they called it.
Each one repeating a ritual we do, every month.
Preparing to completely wreck our zen with adrenaline and insanity.
We were fucking invincible. Our team, our people. Completely bulletproof.
I breathed in deeply, my nostrils burned as the powder made it's home.
Instantly, I felt better about being me. I was fucking ready. (Oh, so ready.)
I opened my windows, and looked out to my friends turned enemies.
They looked back into my eyes defiantly, ready to face what was coming.
I checked all of my gauges, their red and white glow happily reporting acceptable numbers.
Try saying that three times fast, huh?
We were all slaves to our poisons, some different and some the same. But the one, the one we all
truly had in common was adrenaline. Was succumbing to the ultimate kinetic rage that lies within
us all.
My engine roared as I pressed my accelerator pedal. The other cars responded loudly.
During a race.. a real race, no one is anything but a car. You become one with the
machine you're strapped to. You put your life in it's hands, and your own.
How many fucking people can say that they held their own life, and survived? Not many.
The second line of white powder hit me harder than the first. My face immediately grew a smile.
A smile that was pinned to my jaw like a fucking clown man. A mother fucking clown.
The only way to get to to go away would've been to rip it off.
I wasn't myself, I wasn't anyone at all.
The glow of my gauges was intoxicating. It was beautiful.
In what felt like an eternity, time past. Our launch-man held up his arms, and pointed at me.
My smile raged on, raged at him. Hit him in his bony fucking face.
Our five cars in unison tore apart the quiet night with banshee tires screeching as we took off.
Our cars were so fast, so fucking fast. The engines chugged down fuel as they rocketed us to the far side
of one hundred and forty miles an hour.
We weaved patterns in the road, amazing, stupefying patterns in the road. They must've been
mesmerizing from the sky, as we merged and separated. Twisted and swung.
The adrenaline crept up my body like a new set of skin. Goosebumps formed on my arms,
my body was enjoying the moment. I was enjoying the moment.
Fight or flight? Fucking flight baby. Fucking flight.
I was so high, I don't think I saw the blue and red lights behind us at first. They pierced the otherwise dark road.
They threatened to ruin our fun. Our game.
"Fuck you, pigs. See if you can catch us." My radio said to my empty car.
Or well, I was in it. I think.
One of our members pulled off. The white car found it's place at the side of the road. I remember watching him let go of the moment. Seeing his face flash in front of me, almost to say...
"Stop, stop before it's too late."
Though, there really was no one there to hear it.
I pushed my accelerator pedal to the floor. The decision is a memory I'll never forget. It was solidifying what I was going to do next. It was the beginning of the end of the beginning, like the Smashing Pumpkins song.
The Nine Inch Nails song that was blasting out of my stereo had intensified, and was I was feeling the music guide my motions. The police car swung towards mine, and in a swift motion I downshifted and shot ahead of him.
My car outpaced his tenfold, and I was so sure my driving skills would to.
"Too fucked up to care anymore, Poisoned to my rotten core" screamed Trent Reznor.
Somewhat Damaged, that's what I was. Trent really knows how to write some good music, I can say that even today.
If you're going to run from the cops, Nine Inch Nails is the way to do it.
The other cruisers had appeared around us now. The chase was evolving and the moment intensifying with every second.
My conscious mind was ruined, my subconscious mind wanted me to keep pushing this envelope further and further.
I remember seeing the straight away. I let my car do the talking, and tore away from the group. My speedometer had pinned itself at one hundred and sixty miles an hour, though I knew I was going far faster than that.
A photograph, still imprinted into my brain. (Do not exceed the mechanical limits of this vehicle. Serious damage, injury or death may occur.) Who the fuck ever listens to those anyway?
My straight away ended in an abrupt turn I could never have been ready for. All the coke in the world couldn't have prepared me to stop. Even slow down.
The concrete was so soft. Oh, so soft.
Oh, so mother fucking soft.
