Hot Shot

Money was tight, after cancelled flights and needing to pay for extra tickets, the trip to attend a dream college in America had faded into a nightmare. How George ended driving at 190 mph in the dead of the night he had no idea, but he wasn't complaining. Truthfully, he only needed to be racing for a year before he would be able to get somewhat on his feet but still was escaping down the empty roads feeling the engine revving beneath his skin and rattling his bones. It was addictive. Becoming closer to the others, George noticed that they too agreed on the racing being an addiction almost. The power he held while grey flooded the street behind him was untouchable-but someone was caught in his path. A dumb little smile on a sickening green Kawasaki was quickly becoming the bane of his existence.