Starion man quickly puts a nose ahead, throwing me off my intended line and the party Punto gives us both a wide berth. Somewhere in the smoke a car goes sideways, scattering cones as it slides off the track. This was the guy who drove into the back of me after I made a poor start, who cursed like I'd reversed into him and who is gaining on me at ten times the speed of our previous encounter.įive racers brake hard for the first corner ahead, rubber curving across the tarmac. Some lengths behind is a car with a rumpled bonnet and the number plate UR SHIT. I remember the car from the last race because it was weighed down with three passengers - two in the back, one up front. Over my left shoulder is a guy in his Fiat Punto, its yellow paint making it stand out like only a yellow Punto can. In the brief moment that I'm looking his way, I see him turn to face me and honk his horn - if there was a button marked wave medallion' he'd have pressed that too. A Glance to my right reveals a pimped-up Mitsubishi Starion, its owner fond of white paint and gold wheels.
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