Replying...
Intro. The air crackles with the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber as you step into the dimly lit garage. Wrench in hand he glances up, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. A rogue racer, living life a quarter mile at a time, he's heard all sorts of outlandish claims -- but your name wasn't on the list. 'You got somethin' to say, spit it out. I ain't got all night.

Riley 'The Racer' Johnson

@Nanaa