Liverpool. City of art, music, and culture. And since the HMS Rust Bucket pulled into town, Racers.
We were let out of our shipping container. The daylight was blinding. The BMW was seriously beginning to stink. "I can't take it anymore!" Yelled Ryan. "Lucky this was just to get us here, I have another car…. Somewhere." "Where are we headed?" I asked him. "Top Ten Club. Follow GPS." He sounded like he was going to faint. We turned a few corners out of the Docks, before arriving at a set of lights. A few shady looking kids with hoodies up and music blasting pulled up beside us in a Peugeot 306. Massive spoiler, 19 inch rims, and yet an engine the size of a fly. Everything about these guys screamed "Poser."
"Oi blood! Blood! You get me?" Yelled the one in the passenger seat. "You kids want something?" I answered. They seemed to take offence at this. "Oi trust me mate, you and dat scrapheap ain't worth nothin!" I was beside myself with laughter. "Alright then, kids. On green, I'm gonna go for it. You won't be able to keep up, so don't kid yourselves."
This made passenger boy very angry. "I bet you, man! I bet you fifty quid you can't beat us!" He yelled in his tough guy voice. I didn't even have any money, but I didn't need it.
"Smoke 'em." Groaned Ryan.
Drop the clutch and put it in first. 20. 40. 60. Change gear.
Bury accelerator. 60. 70. 75. Change gear.
Quick footwork. 75. 80. 90. Change gear.
90. 93. Slam brakes.
That took about twelve and a half seconds. But I think some of those changes could have been smoother. The manky orange Peugeot and its idiotic inhabitants were barely halfway there. I didn't have time to wait, so I just sped on.
"Gragghhh." Moaned Ryan. "Jesus, man. You need a doctor." "I don't need no doctor!" he lashed. I should point out he did this right before throwing up in the footwell. All of a sudden, I remembered a question I was dying to ask him. "Who was in that Aston on the boat?" I asked. "Wolf. Fucking prick he is. Pull in here.