dreamin

Already in contemplation of Saturday's racing. Thusfar:

PLAN 110A/b (aka "golden ratpatrol"):

1. wake @ whatevero'clock
2. shower in a ruthlessly decadent fashion
3. devour half of pantry as day's first meal
4. full stomach, coffee in hand, hop in sPutnik and continue argument with uppity disc player regarding 'who's REALLY in charge of la musica?'
5. blaring whatever tunes end up selected - with a cross morning's wind blowing on the cheeks and sputnik's warm breath blowing over the rest of me - I'll drive some meandering route to Folsom, prison town.

Nothing resembling a freeway will sputnik see. It's a max of 50 mph trip this weekend...my favorite. It shouldn't take me more than a couple hours to drive a hun'erd mile.

i drive slow.

Racing! oh, sweet addiction - come for thy dip. I plan on goofing all frickin' day. Pictures, words, drinks, chucks - whatever comes across the path. Then, it will be another massage of a drive back to LiveMo. Sputnik stops for all brazen acts of beauty.

Back home whenevero'clock, it's a contraption of noodle, cheese and beer for my gullet. Yes, some wicked ale, black as sin and thick as an accent, drowning me in happy flows.

And Sunday - blessed Sunday.

a floating, dancing, tailwind of a ride...all frickin' day.
Seeing, feeling, breathing
it all in, before i die.


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