Would You Risk Your Life for $1500?

The yelling is over.

The champagne has been sprayed.

Done with the autographs and selfies with the fans.

Packed up and on the road.

He rings my cell.

Would you risk your life for $1,500 bucks?

‘I got friends who frame houses or do timber who make more.’

I risk my ass and then some.

What the f***.

They said it was a breakthrough win on the Mile.

The racing in Singles is vicious.

He rode his ass off,

hung it out hard,

full throttle, running three wide into corners.

Banging and bumping thru traffic.

Staying out of the wind, then drafting,

trying to squeeze every ounce out of her.

A soundtrack of singles wrung against the stops.

They said he was too big to win on a mile.

He drove home smirking.

Refueling, another truck stop black coffee.

He lets his mind drift on the highways.

His buddies might make more money.

But they’re never happy.

Always bitching about their jobs.

They live for the weekends.

Smoking and drinking just to get by.

Their lives a series of days rolling past.

Weekends off if you’re lucky.

Feels like another form of slavery.

Racing gives him freedom.

He might not make a fortune winning races,

but it’s a life worth living.

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