Tarakan & Theresse
Theresse
Hey, have you ever heard about the old city’s midnight drift track? There’s a legend that a rusty old car once outmaneuvered a whole convoy of police. I’ve heard snippets in the night wind—doesn’t sound impossible for someone who’s spent nights under the hood of a thousand machines. What’s the most unforgettable race you’ve seen or raced?
Tarakan
You know that midnight drift track? Yeah, I’ve seen a few rides there, but the most unforgettable was last month, a full-on under‑the‑radar run. I had this old Chevy, patched up on the fly, and I slipped past a squad of patrol cars that thought they had us cornered. The way the engine roared, the slick tires kissed the asphalt—felt like I was dancing with death and winning. Nothing tops that rush, man.
Theresse
That sounds like a dream turned into grease and roar. What was the Chevy model? Did you feel the wind taste like metal and gasoline, or was it the city lights painting the pavement in neon? I’d love to hear a fragment of that night—just one memory to stitch into the larger story.
Tarakan
That was a ’68 Chevy Camaro, all battered chrome and neon. The wind was hot—metallic, gasoline, and the night felt like a blur of neon bars on the hood. I remember one split second: I hit a bump, the tires lost traction, the whole car shuddered, and I felt the revs climb, the throttle hit full, and then the convoy behind me fell like a flock of pigeons. I came out on the other side with the city lights turning the asphalt into a river of fire. That’s the one I’ll never forget.