so. . . i'm cruising along a lonely stretch of i75, coming home from work- tired, sweaty, and i smell of the roasted flesh of tasty dead animal. it's close to midnight, and it's only myself and a few other lonely souls cruising along. . . . . when suddenly, an electric blue pearl si blasts past me doing probably 100. he's got an exhuast, and he disturbs my slumber, which angers me, and i decide to put him in his place. i follow him, stalking him, following all the way onto fletcher, which is nice since that's where i'm going anyway. he putzes around the off-ramp, which would have eben fun to race around, but i guess he only likes to drive stupid in a straight line. finally we're on fletcher, and i get next to him, repeatedly goading him to race me with blips of the throttle, seeming to no avail, until finally he answers my challenge and i am forced to let third gear ride out, but it was strong enough to slowly walk away. not much, true, but nevertheless i put enough distance it was a little harder to hear that awful exhaust note of the si. i plow through the water that the median sprinklers have thrown onto the street, and begin to slow. i'd like to point out that the governemtn seems to have an affinity for setting the sprinklers to water the road, and not the grass. strange. maybe they're trying to use reverse psychology on the lawn? i dunno. anyway.
we slow down to a [semi] reasonable speed, and go again, but slow prematurely becuase of traffic. he gets behind me as i pass the traffic, close enough i cant see his headlights anymore. damnit, i'm still not slow enough to get into second. fuck. i count to three, and let third do it's thing again. . . i can see his headlights now. . . i can see his whole car now. . . he changes lanes, i suppose he expected the slipstream to boost him past me, but that didnt work. it's time for fourth now. he's still on it, and i'm not going to give him the satisfaction of a flyby, so i keep it down as well. fourth is getting a good workout, and those who know my car know what fourth is capable of. i finally decide that enough is enough, and begin to slow. . . . and the gas light comes on. nobody asked you your opinion, gas light. shut up. i hoped for a chance at a light, but that never happened. he never rolled his window down, either, but i threw a peace sign anyway. though i'm not sure if he saw through the opaque tint. . .