As I mentioned before, I run in the field behind my childhood elementary school. I saw this last week–it took like thirty seconds, but just blew my mind.

A turquoise Iroc with the t-top popped ripped into the teachers’ parking lot at like a hundred miles an hour. Wheels squealed as that hypercolor discount muscle car etched a horseshoe on the pavement and shuddered to a hard stop up against the curb. The driver had the highest, tightest crewcut in the world, and his bare torso glistened with sweat. His red face bobbed, kinda headbanging to the radio, which was absolutely CRANKING Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls” through treble-heavy factory speakers.

He looked me in the eye for too too long, drained a Red Bull and sprinted across the street into an apartment. Notice that I did not mention that he put on a shirt.

Take a little picture of THAT.