Alonzo’s heart increased as his hands closed around the steering wheel of his white Calater coupe, a newly released car model. He felt the cold breeze brush against his face as he looked to the horizon. It was cool and dry; clear of any cops, pedestrians and cars. A perfect night for this race, he thought, smirking slightly. On idle, he focused on the traffic lights and reached for the gear stick, simultaneously clutching in and gearing to first. To his left sat Joshua Zerbino, curly haired Turkish boy, driving a black Prozone sedan. He wore a red tank top, black track suit pants, and runners with his black cap backwards. He was the school’s bully, and tonight Alonzo wanted to teach him a lesson. Knowing the timing of each set of lights,
The author then looks back upon the time in his life when her mother decided to drive Hunter Jordan’s old car. However, she didn’t know how to drive, and was generally afraid to get behind the wheel. On that day, she drove crazily on the road, and declared to never drive again. James McBride also reflected on his life up to a teenager, who knew that bad things would occur in the not too distant future if he didn’t change his ways and behavior.
Dreams come and go every night, but some dreams tend to stay for a lifetime. I have always dreamt to become a professional athlete in some way or another. Growing up I have always looked up to many different athletes. Whether it was Ladanian Tomlinson on the football field or Kobe Bryant on the basketball court I have always had some athlete that I wanted to be like someday.
The No 32 midget was painted in his bus company colours of cream and red and during the summer racing season Rex would go over the car each Saturday afternoon looking to have it running at its best for the night’s action.
Finishing the last piece of a Snicker's bar, Phenix stowed the wrapper in his pocket and strapped on his helmet. One of the next best things to flying was straddling a badass, hyper-bike. It’s raw, its real, and it’s visceral. The guttural roars of the motorbikes as Phenix and Jonas started them up soon settled to a long, low purr. Phenix took the point, heading out of the scenic area. He preferred this method of transport, reveling in covering the quarter-mile in seconds, the adrenaline buzz of carving a line through tight bends, the wind rushing past as he opened
Basketball is a big part of my life, one year ago in tournament final game two of our best players were hurt and the team was relying on me. With the time winding down on the clock we were down 8 points. Somehow I got our deficit down to two points with 30 seconds left, after an intense defensive stop 10 seconds remained on the clock; our coach called a timeout. A play was drawn up for me to take the shot. Mitchell inbounded the ball to me as I came off of a screen, I had an some-what wide open shot, I took the shot, you could hear the crowd go silent as the ball left my hand and headed towards the basketball. It felt like everything was going slow motion, the ball was getting closer and closer to the hoop and I…….missed it. The buzzer sounded
I, Chandler Smith, have had a very steady life. Growing up I never had to fight to eat or worry about where I was going to sleep. I had a very blessed upbringing. I never had a spontaneous moment to where I suddenly knew who, or what my life really meant. I had a good highschool football career, being a jock and playing with my friends, not a care in the world. Until one day at practice I went in for a tackle, and dislocated my shoulder. I tore the labium and needed surgery, ending my senior season and my football career.
Now I had the old car racing down the road and off the ridge at something close to 80 mph simply because that was all the speed I could wring out of it. I'd made one turn, but there was one more ahead before we entered the valley and the town that lay astraddle a creek. The next turn was a sharp, banking left-hander, edged by a dozen or so white posts laced together by steel cables, and oncoming traffic was obscured by a little hill.
The novel “The Autobiography of an ex-colored man,” by James Johnson presents a major social issue of racial categorization that is present in today’s society. From a selected passage in the novel, the narrator is in Macon, Georgia seeking to depart to New York. During this time, the narrator is explaining his contemplation about which race, white or black, he will classify himself as for the rest of his life. Through his experiences, he is pushed away from classifying himself as a black male. This passage connects to the general scope of the novel as the narrator is continuously combating his racial position in society, as he is an individual of mixed races. Johnson’s language, use of imagery and metaphor, and emphasis on categorization portrays
My long and strenuous journey to be like Michael Jordan became an obsession, plaguing me from the second grade to high school. Like many children, I grew up idolizing “His Airness.” Emulating his intensity and competitiveness, I devoted myself to basketball, sacrificing weekend after weekend to the court. Before I knew it, my teammates had dubbed me “Mr. Automatic.”
Ever since I was a little boy, about eight years old or so, I had an extreme passion for the sport of basketball. On weekends, I would wake up in the morning, eat a bowl of frosted flakes or cheerios, put on basketball shorts and then go in my driveway to shoot around. I would be out there for hours just shooting around or playing with some random kids that I would occasionally see walking around my neighborhood. This was satisfaction to me, but even better was playing on multiple public teams and not just playing in my driveway every day. In elementary school, I played in a recreational league, just like almost every other kid who tries out basketball when they were younger. This was fun and all but it was nothing too serious. There were never any practices, it was just one or two unorganized games per week. I never took
The first step of the introduction is building up anticipation for what is to come. The harbor is swarmed with people bustling around, and through this crowd the spectators’ attention is immediately drawn to a shining white car with golden linings as its honking break through the masses. The audience is invited to follow the line of sight of a little girl, who gasps at the sight of the beautiful vehicle. Already, we are aware that whoever or whatever is contained in that car is of importance to the story as well as the society built in this cinematography. The little girl also serves as a vessel to share her awe and some cases, for female spectators to relate to her personal ...
Pedaling my bike, I swerved left and right, dodging all sorts of trash which littered the desolate ground beneath my feet. The car was gaining ground fast; its ebony visage glaring at me like some hell-spawned demon. A cold clammy hand seemed to envelope my body. I knew I could not escape.
Keys in hand, I thumbed the button to releasing the door to my car, a 2012 Subaru Forester. Mel thought the dark gray color would blend into the road too much, but I loved how it looked and had to have it. As I swung the door open, I noticed some of the students were coming my way. It must have been a wild night. By the way they were walking, it seemed like the party must have just let
Three cars ahead of us a car crash happened. The car was like a puzzle crumbling into a million pieces. For a moment everything stopped, pictures of me falling off my dirt bike and getting hurt were flashing in my eyes. It didn’t matter, we couldn’t be late to get in the lineup at the track.
When I saw the car, it made me feel as if the car was fast. Since most super cars are fast and the bodies shapes are more aerodynamic, my instinct was that it must be fast. I enjoyed all the little details on the car because it made the car more unique. The quality of the modified Citroen DS looked good and classical. When I saw the car, I saw an owl on the car. The lights on the car, to me symbolizes the eyes of an owl. The middle part of the bumper symbolized the beak of the owl. The car in particular, makes me think even more because I feel that the artist has a deeper meaning to his work. The work of the car makes me very surprise because of its