I sometimes think of the crowd as hypno- tized, a crowd that has nowhere to go.
and after the races they get into their old cars, drive to their lonely rooms and look at the walls.
Wondering why they did it --- heels run down, bad teeth, ulcers, bad jobs, men without women, women without men.
Nothing but shit.
there are some laughs.
there have to be.
walking into the men's room between races the other day I came upon a young man gagging, then shouting in fury: "god damn son of a bitch, some god damn son of a bitch didn't flush his shit away! HE LEFT IT THERE! the son of a bitch, I walked in and there it WAS! I'll be he does that at home too!" this boy was screaming.
the rest of us were standing there pissing or washing our hands, thinking about the last race or the next one.
I know some freaks that would be delighted to come upon a potful of fresh turds.but that's the way it works - the wrong guy gets it.
