The late model sedan skims the highway as a polished stone on water; body-to-body, the driver scanning for an opening. The seams come undone as much by faith as from will. Glance in your rear view if time allows - 'the teeth of the hydra are upon you.'
He won't wait; like a greyhound, banging against the gate, ready to run. Frederick Stevenson has a plan to simply do the work, distinguish himself in the ring and worry about the rest later. Pushing himself exactly as he does his car, on a steep pitch, forcing the velocity, demanding the outcome.
When he is older and seasoned and decorated several times over - when he's rounded into a smoothie - I can see him as a shoe-in to take that year's Dancing WIth The Stars crown. But that is not now and it is not on the radar. For now, let youth be served. For now...DUCK!
(Frederick is N0. 46 in the '250...mofos' series)