Prologue

Angry words. Sneakers clumping out of a house, followed by a door slamming.

From outside a decrepit V-8 chugs to life, followed by the start of a freshly-tuned performance engine.

Inside a middle-aged woman, with graying blonde hair and a barely-there bump in her gut stood in her kitchen, a mix of pain and anger wriggling inside her as her husband, a man with slightly long black hair and a moustache stands trying to soothe her.

That was the scene at home when Mama laid down the law in response to a purchase made by my dentheaded brother.

If only there could have been some way of her already knowing how her words that night would affect our little family in the coming months and years.

Ah well, I guess it's all just red asphalt under the overpass. Still, I wish I'd have known a few things myself that fateful September day in '98, when, well, -I reckon I just ought to start on the day in question.