Redline

I pulled up to the stoplight behind the new SS.


The smirk of its taillight styling mocked the Focus, my trusty commuter.


My showroom-new '74 Camaro came to mind, the modified V-8's muscle smoking Firebirds and Trans-Ams of the day.


The low grumble of this one's gentle revs in front of me awakened my competitiveness.


I'd live to find this one another day, and show him my motorcycle's tailpipes off the line.


I'd grin, wondering how he'd feel getting beaten--if only in the first two or three gears--by a fat guy on a Honda bike costing 25-grand less.