there was this guy
whose name eludes me
but I see him
standing tall
a cup of coffee
in his hands
in the parking lot
of White Castle
next to his 63 Impala
blue and white
lovingly simonized
the hub caps glowing
proud of that 409
under the hood
he would race
anyone anytime
on any parkway
I’ll cream ’em
he’d say
I’ll kill ’em
and so he did
until that hour
between nighttime
and morning
when he didn’t quite make
that cıurve
by the Freeport exit
on Southern State Parkway
the car flipped
and there being no law
requiring seat belts then
he wasn’t wearing one
broke his back neck
and he lay dead
on the side
of the road
in what would be
the rising sun
for the rest
of us
on a new day
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Leonard Durso 
The terror story of my early teens in California in the 1960s…
A terror story still for youth.
one of many
Too many, too often.
I think this story is as old as mankind, Leonard. Well told.
Thank you. And yes, as old as our ability to race.
He died doing what he loved. I think there’s something to be said for that. The story of youth. I’m amazed so many of us made it out alive.
Yes, making it out alive is a blessing.
Allow me to re-blog this please? Awesome. 🙂
Thank you for reblogging this. I am now following your blog.
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Thank you for reblogging this.