Tracy was one bad Momma. Thundering past a group of jaw-dropped dorks in crew cuts, bedecked in her bomber jacket and too-cool for school, cheap sunglasses, Tank-Shifting Tracy leaves a cloud of dust, a whiff of French perfume and a trail of broken hearts wherever she rides. With a toxic combination of low self-esteem and high blood pressure she was the foot-clutching, chain-smoking, rubber-burning, easy-loving queen of the open road.
According to legend, Tracy could light up a Camel at seventy miles an hour and never get smoke in her eyes while she ran over livestock, household pets and beatniks, crushing their bodies beneath the wheels of her hopped-up 74, leaving a trail of blood and gore in her wake.
A lovely girl, tragically misunderstood, or should that be Miss Under-Stood . . . I always fall for bad girls with a nicotine habit and halitosis.
ReplyDelete" I'm just a soul whose intentions are good..."
DeleteFoot clutchin',jockey shiftin', hanging that rear out,on the gas Tracy...on her way to her librarian job no doubt...
ReplyDeleteReminds me of myself being the jaw dropped youth, as a blonde goddess passed my 175 Honda...on her 750...