<div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e6/John-Burnout.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Jonathan Hellyer</strong><br/><strong>Car</strong>: 1998 Mitsubishi Eclipse (http://mitsubishieclipse.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/mitsubishi-eclipse-1.jpg)<br/><strong>Appearance</strong>: Comfortable white T-shirt and jeans<br/><strong>Location</strong>: 11th St and 1st Ave<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: John, Open<br/><hr/><br/>John periodically had the chance to look up from the bundle of papers on his steering wheel, glancing at the street sign's to verify that he was still going the right way.<strong>"Keep the steering wheel straight, shift just before the tach hits redline, and floor it after every shift. With an automatic, shifting it manually can-"</strong>he read the contents of the last page print out on Google searches 'Tips for Street Racing' aloud. In school memorizing for a test or lab just clicked better when he actual read his notes aloud. While frantically changing into anything other then scrubs back at the hospital, John printed off a few online articles to try and create as much of an advantage as possible. The man had no expectation of actually<em>winning</em>his heat, but not embarrassing himself or wrecking his car would be awesome.<br/><br/>The scene was just what he had imagined, cars lined up one next to another, each with drivers possessing their own unique styles and looks chatting each other up. Music was echoing from some high quality stereo nearby, further adding to the atmosphere of this all-together new experience for him. He couldn't help but smile widely, like a teenager at his first day of college. He was nervous but so excited about the present and the future he almost didn't care.<strong>"Almost"</strong>he repeated out loud, tossing the papers on his back seat while doing his best to driver through the crowd of cars and people without looking too much like he had no idea what he was doing. John had been in a few races before, but nothing this high scale. Racing had been much more of a tightly guarded obsession that only very recently, after having been introduced to Adriano, was given a chance to grow.<br/><br/>The guy Adriano had gotten him in contact with, who also took his money for the Heat 3 race entry, was standing nearer to the side of the starting line. Thankfully John caught his attention while pulling up, being motioned over to the starting line with a sudden urgency John had not expected. All at once he realized that his race was about to get started. The man had no time to socialize or check out some of the other racers he was going to be competing against. It was going to be a trial by fire. If that heroine junkie had just decided to go and get his arm infected tomorrow night instead of 2 hours ago, the resident might have had a chance to get here on time instead of learning the finer details of how to IV some druggie through the feet rather than in a infected arm.<br/><br/>The nerves came back with a force, his hand rising instinctively to brush non-existent sweat from his brow. His racing connection guided him up to the front, and into his spot. Christ he didn't even have the chance to have a smoke.<strong>"Tank is sitting at a quarter for less weight"</strong>feverishly repeating directions he had read from the Google article. He must have looked at his own light blue eyes in the mirror over a hundred times in the mirror, the more rational medical side of him screaming that John was about to participate in something people literally died from on a regular basis. Too late to back out now, Heat 3 was about to begin.<br/><br/>Around this time John began to notice the looks in his rear and side-view mirror. The expression in the crowd's eyes said it all. Who the fuck is that guy? He tried his best to ignore it, summoning up any skill he possessed  while reaching out and gripping the shift with his right hand. Slowly he worked through the onslaught of his boyish inexperience, feeling collected and ready.