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Call her Animal. That's what her friends called her anyways. She was 21 and had ADD. She had been to MIT and had aced her way through all her college courses. She was very keen on cars and worked hard on her own car. She lived in L.A., the biggest street-racing town there is, but she didn't know it, yet. This is a tragic love story about a young woman who wasn't widely known. But now she will be, because here's her story.
Hey! I'm Animal. That's my nickname, not my real name. My real name is not very practical, or pretty, for that matter. My story begins with the fact that I was drag racing my Jetta, Mustang Flame on an abandoned highway by the new mall that day. I got out to check the engine, and I saw a few cars- one was a Jetta-oddly parked. They were in a row, but they were slanted, as if to leave (???). The owners were standing outside the car They saw me looking at them, got in their cars and left with the other two. That was the ten millionth time I've seen them there and I've already nicknamed them. (If you were wondering: the white/blue Jetta owner was 'Jesse', the yellow neon-Leon, the red viper (this one's a girl)-Lenny, and the blue Mazda: Vince.) I shrugged it off and called up my old college roomy and met her at Kohl's for a shopping date like we do every week. After that we went to lunch at the Downtown Café. She told me something so incredibly overwhelming (well, to me, a car lover) that I fell off the chair. Every night Dominic Torreto, his gang, and every street racer in the state of California almost come to Boardwalk alley and street races for money and for pink slips. I had to restrain myself from crying out in joy! I told her I had to go, as it was already 3 o'clock, and I went to my favorite store, "The Racer's Edge". I picked up a bottle of NOS, and a couple other things.
Call her Animal. That's what her friends called her anyways. She was 21 and had ADD. She had been to MIT and had aced her way through all her college courses. She was very keen on cars and worked hard on her own car. She lived in L.A., the biggest street-racing town there is, but she didn't know it, yet. This is a tragic love story about a young woman who wasn't widely known. But now she will be, because here's her story.
Hey! I'm Animal. That's my nickname, not my real name. My real name is not very practical, or pretty, for that matter. My story begins with the fact that I was drag racing my Jetta, Mustang Flame on an abandoned highway by the new mall that day. I got out to check the engine, and I saw a few cars- one was a Jetta-oddly parked. They were in a row, but they were slanted, as if to leave (???). The owners were standing outside the car They saw me looking at them, got in their cars and left with the other two. That was the ten millionth time I've seen them there and I've already nicknamed them. (If you were wondering: the white/blue Jetta owner was 'Jesse', the yellow neon-Leon, the red viper (this one's a girl)-Lenny, and the blue Mazda: Vince.) I shrugged it off and called up my old college roomy and met her at Kohl's for a shopping date like we do every week. After that we went to lunch at the Downtown Café. She told me something so incredibly overwhelming (well, to me, a car lover) that I fell off the chair. Every night Dominic Torreto, his gang, and every street racer in the state of California almost come to Boardwalk alley and street races for money and for pink slips. I had to restrain myself from crying out in joy! I told her I had to go, as it was already 3 o'clock, and I went to my favorite store, "The Racer's Edge". I picked up a bottle of NOS, and a couple other things.