Somewhere in Southern California
The camera turns, from above on the harsh arid landscape. It comes to a road, the noise of this song audible in the background, as it aproaches a petrol station. A bright orange M3 GTS sits there- and a man roughly 6"3. Wearing a pair of oakleys, with a stubble and a look on his face like he had come to do some racing.
Ross placed the nozzle into the M3, the fuel pouring in. He was at some gas station somewhere 20 miles from Willow Springs- and between him, a twisty canyon route sat between him and his destination. He watched as the octane 95 fuel poured in- it was the best this place had, a remote petrol station miles from anywhere. It was truly arid- and the place looked beautiful as it was harsh. The area was slightly elevated, and the canyon was always a good place to lay down some speed. He lived for this.
A minute passed, till he had to withdraw the fuel nozzle and put it back, the tank brimming full and ready for a day's worth of racing in the canyons and at Willow Springs. He had some heads to roll, after all. He walked into the shop, and paid swiftly, using a Visa card to pay the petrol he had just bought. Ross was even surprised he had been able to buy it, as he also bought himself a half a liter bottle of Coke to keep him cool. Ross walked out of the small shop, and went back to his car, getting in and quickly starting it up. The 4.4 litre V8 roared- even more so, with the performance exhaust he had fitted. He threw it into first, and skidded away, turning back onto the small road- his direction clear. Toward Willow Springs, via the road in the canyon- and despite the fact that it is the morning, and one that seemed busy, the road was empty. He had racing to do- and he felt the buzz, the GTS barking and taking him past 60 in the time he expected. The two NOS tanks he had fitted sat where the rear seats in a normal M3 would be, and the semi-slicks felt like they kept the car stuck to the road, Ross taking the M3 over 90 after a slight bend in the desert road. He had a definite grin on his face- one that he knew was ready to race.