Our drifter had heard of such a place. A gated community. Streets lined with good fitting wheels, the hottest 'aero', 'built' cars – a world without roll centers, and ironic cut vinyl decals on every free inch of glass. A few local high rollers dropped condescending hints of its existence. He knew he 'got it'; he knew he’d fit in! He just had to prove it. But how could he afford it? There had to be a way. "Build it and they will cum LOL", he thought.
His menial social life was already feeling the strain of this frustration. He had stopped taking his girlfriend out months ago. She was a hostess at Chili’s, and fairly well-connected. They would take his parents’ dinner into his room, and he would browse the forums while she sat on his bed, texting guys she met at work.
“Look at this. Look. This is the kit I’m gonna get. Wheels suck, though. He’s a loser anyway.”
“Uh huh.” She got up. “I’m going home.”
He jumped up from the monitor to block the exit.
“Wait, wait, you don’t wanna stay?” His hands on her hips. He was so anxious these days he couldn’t sleep without rubbing one out. Keeping her over would also guarantee him a ride to work the next morning.
“Cops hate my car. You know that, baby.” He said, kissing her neck. “I need this.” Hands going up her shirt.
His car was in disrepair. He hadn’t ‘drifted’ in over a year. But he was ready. He bumped his build thread with a casual “new shit comin soon”. A few token props followed. He began to lube his comeback with reverent compliments to the local big shots.
“Soooooo fuckin dope, Adam!!!” Easing onto a first name basis. "Looks fucking hot, Brian!!!"
They knew he 'got it'. In the coming months he would show them.
3 years ago