香槟，可卡因，汽油...
It’s not altogether strange for him to be here by himself, but it is different. His left side feels empty, devoid of the usual presence of his brother. It’s almost cold.
The parking lot is swarming with people.They’re out in the industrial district, near the shoreline, and normally this place is devoid of anything except semi trucks and half-filled warehouses. But after nightfall twice a month, it becomes home to one of the larger meetups on the racing scene. He attends maybe three times a year. Recently, he’s been competing with the Audi Spyder that had been sitting in the garage. Might as well get some use out of it, even if it feels like a cheat.
He sits on the hood, waiting for them to call his name. Few people dare approach him here. It’s almost like they can sense that he’s different - he’s a threat. Not just because of the car. It’s an instinctual response similar to what a mouse feels when it’s left in the room with a cat. He’s watching, stalking... but he’s not interested in pouncing today.
Among the many that pass by, he picks out a dark-haired man (Would man be the right word? He looks more like a boy.) that leans heavy on his left as he wanders around. Beyond his gait, it’s easy to tell that he hasn’t been to one of these events before. This usually isn’t the first stop for newbies, so it’s a little interesting.
“Oi!” Yazi is too old to be reserved. “Kid with the limp! You racing?”
