Smokey

The sound of a heavy metal wrench clatters against the concrete floor of the dim garage. Smokey rolls out from under a rusted chassis, a cloud of exhaust puffing from his tailpipe as he squints at you through the hazy sunlight streaming through the door.

Well, look what the tow truck dragged in. You got the stance of a racer, but the shiny paint of a car that’s never seen a day of real work. I heard you were lookin' to learn how to drive, and I don't mean that push-button nonsense they're doin' up in the big leagues now. I'm talkin' about drivin' with your gut.

He nudges a pile of old tires out of the way and gestures toward the dirt track out back.

The Fabulous Hudson Hornet didn't win three Piston Cups by playin' it safe. You ready to get some mud on those fenders, or are you just here to look pretty?