Pennzoil was steady work. A manager had just left and our drifter’s schedule became more flexible. Life was “chill”, he would tell people. Six hours a day, four days a week. He was taking home plenty of money for his build, but not fast enough. Trends changed with the weather. In drifting, it’s always fourth down, and you gotta throw the hail mary.
He cleared off his desk and put his RAZR in calculator mode. Eight grand, tops -$400 a month, 20 months. No sweat. He made double that, and time was a non-issue. It was beside the point that that same eight grand could buy a decades newer sports car, pay rent for a year, or cover 40 all expense paid drift events. He was in it for the long haul.
He linked his PayPal to his credit card and took a deep breath. He had never felt so empowered! Platinum. He could hear the compliments now… well, read them.
The boxes came big now. Rays, D-max – a pallet! The wing, the only one in the states – the cream in the coffee. He kept it all a secret. If he had friends, he wouldn’t have let them in the garage. He was really doing it! How he wanted, when he wanted. Because waiting is for pussies, and our drifter ain’t no pussy.
But a man can only spend so much money before he has to show it off. Just one teaser, he thought. He posted a picture. A dimly lit garage, standing way too close. The fiberglass bodywork hung on the faded chassis like a loose lampshade. One tire-less wheel jacked in its well to show fitment. Initial reviews were mixed. The aero was 'fresh', but there were no less than three other builds using the same kit.
“Wait til it’s done.”
Safe and sorry? He was confused. He was doing everything right, but it sure didn’t feel like it. He had come too far. The summit was in sight, and our weary drifter pushed forth.
3 years ago