I just picked up my WRX on Wednesday, but tonight was my first kill. I'm at a stoplight, left hand lane. I hear something to my right. It's a Chevy-something...my town has a Chevy plant in it, so every ****weed with a mom or dad or both in the factory take out their Cavalier or Malibu on Friday nights.
Anyway, he's inching up. Light is still red, and a semi making a left in front of us is blocking the intersection, a huge piece of metal cholesterol clogging up the caronary artery.
He revs a little. Then a lot. I look over and, yep, visor on slightly crooked, seat reclined back, and a car a packed with some G-thug hip gangsta wannabes. Driving a bright yellow Cavalier. Something thumping on their stereo (Eminem?). The driver's got his seat so far back, I have to think the guy in the rear is being crushed to death. But he seems happy enough; he's in a bright yellow Cavalier on a Friday night. Who wouldn't be!
Opposing lights turn yellow. The semi is crawling through his turn, and the Cavalier is nudging forward, revving and looking at me. I'm thinking, NAH, a Cavalier? Why waste my time?
Then he pisses me off. Our light turns green, and I'm still blocked by the tail end of the semi. He unleashes his 140 ponies, the tires almost chirping, and he BARELY misses the back bumper of the semi, swerving a good 5 feet to get around it and get the jump on me. Something inside me, DEEP within my being, snaps. No way were these pre-pubescents going home tonight with another notch carved in their shifter.
I juice it to about 4500. Dump the clutch. AWD launches me through the intersection like a Patriot zeroing in on a SCUD. I miss the semi by at least an inch and a half. The Cavalier is shifting to third gear and is almost through the intersection. Full boost. Redline. I hit 2nd clean. 3rd. Change into their lane. No need to check the rearview before moving over; they're a distant memory.