There's a kind of whommph as the huge disk brakes with their dual calipers lock onto the ventilated disks and the air behind the car comes rushing past.There's a kind of whommph as the huge disk brakes with their dual calipers lock onto the ventilated disks and the air behind the car comes rushing past. The enormous low-profile tires grip the blacktop and the car slams to a stop so fast that you feel yourself pushed forward into the seat until the seat-belt takes up the slack. I engaged reverse gear and backed up, the exhaust gurgling loudly. I stopped the car opposite the kid. The boy was small, maybe nine or ten. It was hard to tell, perhaps he was even younger. He looked at me as he slowly walked over to the car. "You want a lift kid?" I asked. Up close, I guessed the boy was about ten years old. He was dark, his bronze-colored complexion and dark brown hair a clear sign that he was probably Mexican, Cuban, or, more likely, part Puerto Rican given his facial features. His right eye and most of his cheek were badly bruised and it looked as if he'd been in a fight and come off second best. The boy looked at me suspiciously. "You okay kid?" I asked. "You look like hell." He smiled weakly and gently rubbed his fingers across his bruised eye, then blinked several times. It obviously still hurt a lot. "Yeah,... I guess I'm okay. Could you give me a lift, mister?" he said slowly. He was barely able to support himself and he leaned against the car with his small dirty hand on the door pillar. I nodded and leaned over and opened the door. The boy sat down slowly as if he was in a great deal of pain. He winced as his body met the smooth black leather and he adjusted to the necessary contour. Then he breathed out, half-closing his eyes. "You okay kid?" I asked again. The boy nodded and swallowed as he breathed fast and shallow. If there is one thing that young boys like, it's going fast in a car. I decided to give my little hitchhiker the thrill of his life. I engaged first gear and pulled back off the shoulder, accelerating rapidly through the gears and letting the quad-cam V8 whine up to five and half thou' before shifting. The Porsche hurtled forward. Its acceleration seemed endless as the needle of the speedometer passed the ten mile increments just about every second until I backed off at cruising altitude. |