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One race a-running,
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1.8 miles of very dirty sidewalk,
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Two days of Budweiser drinking,
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Three days of awful traffic, and people whizzing by in annoying little carts,
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Four speeding fines, for trying to imitate the drivers after the race,
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Five pounds of weight gained from *delicious* concession stand food,
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Six piles of roadkill (Who didn’t tell the possums about the race?)
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Seven hours of buzzing, louder than an army of mutant mosquitoes,
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Eight dollars (or more) for parking, miles away from your destination,
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Nine arrests for indecent exposure that also caused nine incidents of blindness,
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Ten dollar special at the Dalí (because Indy Car enthusiasts love them some fine arts),
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Eleven tons of litter, scattered about the city, and
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Twelve hundred rednecks.
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14 turns,
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25 cars.
The Indy cars were here, and you missed it. Oh, the sorrow.
Never fear, there’s always next year.
Photo by Thomas Boyd.
