Well, not every prejudice, this (and I assume) other swap
meets, are decided un-left wing. The "Kill-em'all-let-god-sort-em-out
head cheese ripens in conditions like these.
And all this put me in a poetic frame of mind. Silently, chanting,
rapping to the rhythm of my heels, dizzy from crossed eyes,
and heaving breaths from a plugged nose I marveled at the
dichotomy between this place and what was going on at Firebird.
beef jerky, hummingbird feeders, or
the big gap between losers and leaders
cell, phones and DVDs or
Whit Bazemore and Steven Neece
spider webs and Jesse James, or
patriotic caps and collector trains
Schumacher slicing through the dark or
"Hey that's me on my new Lark"
NASCAR cups and Girl Scout cookies or
30-year vets and 330-mph rookies
seat covers/auto, truck and vans or
$6.50 beer, riots in the stands
ridiculous hollow metal horse or
Medlen, Hight and ole John Force
wood furniture and sandals that flop or
arrogant, ignorant security cops
Budweiser logo metal sign or
Looks like Brandon crossed the line
cut rate big dark glasses, or
way more smokers than 5.50 passes
ankle bracelets, adult bibs or
where's Buster? Where's Steve Gibbs
statues, coats-of-arms or
racing writers at the funny farm
Worship at the church of the almighty dollar or
so much shit in here, I think I'm GONNA HOLLER
Well, as you can see the Swap Meet had its drawbacks, but
all in all, I think that Burk and I are slowly going to incorporate
more of this into our racing weekend lifestyles. No, not swap
meets. Different things like adult bookstores, lap dances,
bars with dirt floors, an occasional outdoor symphony, jazz
festivals, tapings of infomercials, Three Stooges TV marathons
on hotel TV, hey the sky's the limit. Man does not live by
4.40s and 330s alone, and quite frankly from what I hear on
the so-called "specs" controversy (treated elsewhere
in the book) that alone may be the fire for a long, long time.
Next race, we'll see you guys for a couple of days, but after
that on to the Body Shoppe, and I mean THAT Body Shoppe.
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