1.
The vibration and rhythmic rocking with the Fairlane family of love, as the voice of his mother.
Around the sounds were a mixture of laughter, insults and burps beer bottles smashed on the rocks. He turned
face to his left, toward the car of Mike Brown, did not see him, too dark.
SGAS compulsively, ready for his race.
Robin "Rob" Lewis loved to run, el'avrebbe done forever, if possible. The blouse
Sue Martin joined so delightful to her breasts when she raised her arms to the moon in the center of the dusty road that led to the jump from the Nash Creek.
Five seconds later they were down, interrupting the performance of its forms and start doing what most expected between Rob and Mike.
A cloud of dust obscured the full moon and earth, enveloping the two machines now run in the race and twenty boys who jumped from the edge of the road the center as devils, screaming the names of the two challengers. The only sound
Rob felt that now was the engine that ran at full pace and scale of the marches. The only things that mattered at that moment were the mechanical part of its Fairlane and win the match against the son of a bitch Mike Bruno.
can get live up to Salto.
The first curve was more than an outcrop of reddish rock that lined the ridge overlooking the street stark naked, like a huge pimple on the backside of the hill. Nothing to worry about for the two, Rob held firmly by steering the car skid on dry ground and giving new gas once it leaves the hairpin. Mike Bruno fared very well, remaining attached to the side of Rob as a tick on a dog.
He looked toward his opponent, but saw nothing, it seemed that the night was Mike's entry into the machine. The blacks were like obsidian glass and for a split second to Rob seemed to see it become translucent.
A hole in the middle of the socket had to return to reality, just in time for the sharp bend which then leads into the hillside, in a sort of corridor made of pine and oak trees. The Fairlane was almost touched the car of Mike, and a few millimeters between the two sides were sparks. Much of Rob had bet $ 500 that the race would be flown in repairs and someone would have to remove it from the throat of Mike. It was not
certainly not the first race that Rob did, but it was the first time I ran the road to El Salto. The figure was worth the risk, he said, although more than one we had left the skin in two decades. As Rob loved to push up its Fairlane and break my ass to all those who challenged the idea of \u200b\u200bflying into a pit of 80 meters is definitely not put him at ease.
Besides the rules were simple: he who hesitates to last wins.
And they were $ 500. Enough to pass a good winter and a great start to '58. The corridor lined
had made the night black liquid like oil, Rob had gained about three meters at the exit of the curve, the headlights pointed to nothing dusty made of dark shapes that light was hard to find (and a voice inside said to Rob that it was better not discovered). He gave
gas by taking advantage of straight road, trying to steal every inch than its opponent. He cast a nervous glance to the rear-view mirrors, the lights of the car of Mike shone like those of wolves at night, and like wolves approached dangerously. He swore on his mother something through clenched teeth.
The moon reappeared like a ghost in despair on the horizon, it seemed that despite its size would serve little light in the darkness. The road widened and became less bumpy than before, the headlights for a few seconds a billboard advertising on the right: a smiling woman with a strange cutting hair, sat in front of a sort of TV, and a huge finger pointing something squared. Too fast. Rob's attention was immediately taken by the fact that Mike had gained ground, and it was a matter of seconds before it happened to overtake. The
car from obsidian glass seemed to have an atomic bomb in the engine and a reverb it across the entire surface, quickly followed by that weird translucent effect, for a second as if someone had removed from reality.
Rob had one with his foot on the accelerator, it was a tablet, and wanted to stay until they had recovered the disadvantage. Anyone who had seen them go at that time would have seen two spots ahead of rushing through blurry eyes, such as hallucinations reeking of diesel and dried mud. The last curve
turned left, wide enough to let go of the cars in opposite lock. Mike Brown made the mistake of expanding too much and Rob won the inside, taking on a par with his opponent and ready to launch its Fairlane last kilometer that separated them from the jump.
He felt his stomach contract, as when we had to launch the plane, some fifteen years earlier, to fall in some shitty French countryside.
Five hundred dollars, he thought. Mine.
And Fairlane dust rose behind her like a herd of crazed horses.
For a moment he felt the only man in the universe, the whole universe was contained in its interior. Planets, stars, galaxies and other celestial bodies which are not even aware of their existence began to revolve around him. If that feeling lasted a second longer he would have braked suddenly and began to cry like a baby.
Five hundred dollars, he thought. Five hundred meters.
gave the bastard Mike Bruno, and the only one that is detached from her side was a good reason. He let go of that Italian
first cock, he told himself. Yes, he braked, that coward. He had the guts to go all the way, he and his damned hair slicked.
But not restrained. Two hundred yards and the two cars traveling side by side attached, like Siamese twins made of sheet metal.
Again the reflection, a caress of the moon on the body. But it was not the moon. Again, the metal became translucent. Rob opened his nostrils, breathing nervously and clutching his jaw. His hands were sweating in contact with the steering wheel. He heard a star to be born and die in his own universe that he carried in the cockpit.
Then he heard the scrape dry and sharp to his left past behind him.
Rob swung around, saw the car stopped his opponent in a soft cloud powder.
Mike Bruno had slowed. He laughed and cried. He turned again to check that it was true and that he did not get the race, but Mike's car shine. Shone and became translucent, until it became part of the night. Rob
pressed the brake, in the grip of terror does not know the source. The Fairlane
did not obey and continued his run, raising dust and reducing to a few tens of meters distance with the jump.
a 'sign of dark wood, attached with chains to a stake in L appeared in the headlights, the inscription was painted in white, hand: "Robin's Drop." Something broke in the brain of Rob.
The car flew over, taking with it earth, stones, dust, dried plants.
In its interior the universe shrank to become a very dense dot.
A reflection and self wrapped the body of Rob became translucent, until it was part of the night.
2.
The vibration and rhythmic rocking with the Fairlane family of love, as the voice of his mother.
Around the sounds were a mixture of laughter, insults and burps beer bottles smashed on the rocks.
He turned his face to his left, toward the car of Mike Brown, did not see him, too dark.
SGAS compulsively, ready for his race.
Robin "Rob" Lewis loved to run, el'avrebbe ever done, if possible.
Mauro Mura, who was born in Alghero 35 years ago, worked as a graphic advertising and publishing for several years. Designer, has had some collaboration as a colorist for several webzines and publications.
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