The Texaco gas station is on a corner in Greenway, where it all begins. Greenway is an industrial area, beehive busy by day, deserted at night. Dark streets and dark buildings surround this inanimate area. The real action will take place later, about a mile up Greenway Drive, where the road is four lanes wide and devoid of civilian traffic. Why do we do it? I do not know, but the consequences of our racing will later haunt me.
             Across the street, in a dark, closed parking lot, my red Mazda 626 rolls in. I have worked on this car all summer. All of my sweat, time, and income goes straight into the car. During that summer, I nearly spent ten thousand dollars on just accessories. Sometimes, I am asked the question, why? And basically, I think I do it to build a name for myself, for street credibility and to show off my talents when it comes to building cars.
             It was 11 p.m. and there was about one hundred fifty to hundred seventy-five cars lined up, in the lot, waiting for the race to begin. As I waited, I over heard two guys talking about betting on their cars. One of them said, "I have two thousand dollars for my race." After hearing this, I walked up to the guys and asked them about their cars. The first guy came out and said, "if you really want to know let's just race."
             " Then let's race," I said.
             "Are you running on engine?" asked an onlooker.
             "You want to run nitrous to nitrous?" he asked.
             "We could," I answered. "Now normally we just come out here and race for fun but I over heard you say you want to bet on your race."
             "Yes, I have two thousand dollars on my car, can you back that up?" he asked.
             "Of course, let's get it on," I said.
             It was 12:05, we both take our cars to the line. I beat him and win the race. From out of nowhere the NYPD helicopter appears,
             ...