Old Days
Main Street and Broadway; a light and three wide lanes.
The time was early morning when the darkness slowly wanes.
The city looked deserted as far as the eye could see; except for a big blown Chrysler, a hairy Ford and me.
The Chrysler was emasculated its chrome and glass and paint, and the whistle from it's blower said slow this crate ain 't.
The sound blending from the Ford told a story just the same; a record built on blazing speed had been his rise to fame.
The light turned yellow, gears engages, pipes sang out, green light and we were gone. Three cars running neck to neck to lose was to be cursed.
Yes sir it was quite a race absolutely neat, I finally had to face it though, My Falcon could be beat.
© Copyright James D. Hubbard
Zeigler, IllinoisAll rights reserved
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