The Chevy driver wiggled his eyebrows and waved to the women as his car drifted around the curve in an obscuring cloud of red dust.
“Number 38 is your favorite?”
“Yeah, that’s Rapid Roy. He’s the best driver here.”
“Didn’t you say Mercury was in this race?”
“And he’s not the only deity, either. Mercury has mad straightaway speed. He’s just useless on the turns, and dirt tracks are all about drifting and controlling traction.”
“So how does this mortal win against gods?”
“Who said Roy’s mortal? ‘Every Sunday afternoon he is a dirt track demon in a ’57 Chevrolet.’”
100 words, for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt:
Still confused? This tale is my homage to Jim Croce’s Rapid Roy (the stock car boy):
I fear the song is better than the story. R.I.P. Jim.