Racing Thoughts - Kane
Aug 15, 2010 0:44:17 GMT -9
Post by Leathurkatt on Aug 15, 2010 0:44:17 GMT -9
I’ve had a hell of a life really. Thinking back on it, I’ve worked on and around cars pretty much my whole life. Dad was a street racer, still is actually. He went legit but he still hits the streets sometimes, mostly sanctioned races. I suppose you could say it’s in the blood; my brother is part of dad’s pit crew and I’ve been on the crew intermittently. I mostly do professional stunt driving, a dream job for me; and I work as a mechanic on the side, rebuilding and restoring cars. I hit the street racing circuit sometimes too since it’s generally fun and lets me blow off some steam. The Street Rats all call me ‘War Demon’, which is kind of funny since they call my dad ‘War God’. There’s respect there I suppose, since people tend not to fuck with us for the most part.
As much fun as I have with cars, it’s the exact opposite with people. I don’t deal with people well, I never have. They get in the way, they talk too damned much about unimportant crap, they use you and try to push you under the wheel. I don’t sit for that, more likely to beat their heads in for them just for trying it with me. And then there are the girls; girls who fawn over you just to make their boyfriends jealous so I have to fight for my life half the time. Not worth the trouble. It’s not that I’m uninterested, it’s just that I’m sick of the stupid ass games people pull and I end up having to crack heads because of it. I’ve had assault charges against me and more bruises, cuts, scrapes, and cracked ribs than I care to count or want to remember.
Then there was that guy Mike I ran into a couple years ago. He was just doing his own thing like I usually do and some local meat heads decided to give him shit. Yeah, pick on the new guy in town. I’ve seen it way too many times and been on the receiving end of more than a few of those. It was six against one, so I thought I’d even up the odds a bit. We busted some heads and ended up talking about cars afterwards. I saw his Mustang, nice ride, decked out n pretty sleek for a new car. I tend to prefer old school Detroit muscle myself; I’m like my dad that way. Mike’s a pretty good guy, ex Army Ranger; wouldn’t mind having him at my back in a scrap. He proved he can take it as much as he can give it, which I can respect. Not a lot of guys around here will step up like that, they just let their attack dogs or a gun do the work for them.
I hate guns. More accurately, I hate most people who carry guns. They think they’re all bad shit because they have a gun, yet I prove time and again that a gun is just a piece of metal I can take away, use against you, or disable before you can do anything about it. But the thugs never learn, stupid idiots. I just fight for my own survival and don’t get into other people’s business. Usually. Just that night at the bar, something told me to back Mike up, and I listen to my instincts. It’s probably what makes me as good as I am behind the wheel, under the hood, and in a fight.
Sad thing is, I’ve never even dated. I find it disgusting when girls throw themselves on the racers the way they do. The Road Whores got no respect for themselves or anyone else. Only girls that do get me to look are the ones that are actually clothed, the strong ones, the ones the guys don’t touch because they’ll get their balls handed to them if they do. But then I stay quiet, none of them ever give me a first glance, let alone a second. Maybe it’s my own fault I still live alone and never date. I get along better with cars than I do people. That’s why I have a truck, two bikes, five cars and no woman bitching at me about having too many vehicles. Still, it does get pretty lonely, though what choice do I have? Live alone or deal with annoying bitchy woman who don’t know when to shut up and let me be? I just suck it up and deal. There’s no point in crying over something you can’t change, and I’m not changing myself and my life to suit someone else.
My mother understands guys like me, hell, she married my dad. She raises and trains quarter horses so she knows when to be quiet and when a word is needed, and she doesn’t try to control or change my dad or my brother n me. That’s a real woman, that’s love. Too bad there aren’t any real women out there who will give me a chance. I suppose I’m likely better off without anyways; having never dated, I don’t miss it.
