The Race

April 18, 2008
By adam evans, Mount Washington, KY

A day at the race would be fun.
But it wouldn’t be in the sun.
The clouds hung around all day long.
The fighter jets flew over after our nation’s song.
The cars so fast they were like streaks of black.
The rain was a water hose spraying my face.
The track got soaked and delayed the race.
The Indy cars went into the pits.
The tires so hot they would need oven mitts.
Rain on the umbrella sounded like rain on a tin roof.
On the way to the pits you could hear roaring engines.
Smell the burned rubber.
The pace cars looked like new corvettes.
I couldn’t tell I was so excited.
Lazily I lounged in my lousy lawn chair.
On the back of my neck stood my hair.
Three laps to go.
One person made it out.
Dario franchitti was the winner.
After the race we went to dinner.
At tumbleweed our waiter Amanda had eyes that were a cool shade of blue.
“Woo Hoo!” I roared on the way out.

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