At the wedding I was at this weekend, the groom handed me an envelope which contained an important piece of my youth.
This was my official race car driving license. I hadn’t seen it since 1993 when I lost it in a card game called Suicide Guts to the groom. I had forgotten about this part of my life, as I was only thirteen and those were some dark times.
Being a race car driver is nothing but stress. Lots of turns. That accelerator pedal. Oh, and the brake pedal! I almost forgot about the fucking brake pedal!
Not much more to say. I drove. I went around a track. Multiple times. This proves it.
