Note: our good friend Robbo attended this years F1 race in Melbourne. In a haze of alcohol fuelled inspiration, he channelled Hunter S. Thompson and gave us 150 words on the experience. Enjoy.
A race around the streets beckoned. A flight ensued. Melbourne.
A large casino was all that concerned me. And the race. Bet’s were placed. Trulli at five to one in the top three. My kind of odds. Flashy lights of casino seduce me. I am number. Around and around I go. Looking, waiting, watching. Drinking, that’s my forte. One Mojito, two Mojito, now I’m rhythm.
A day at the races. Gentlemen start your engines. The red light is always green. Fast cars, faster ladies, beer at six dollars. One hour and one half of pure hedonism. Around and around and around they go. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes and it’s all the same. All a blur. Alcohol? Maybe.
Ninety minutes that’s my game. Winners and losers or so they say. Trulli in the top three. I’m happy. Paid for a few of those drinks.
Old rock and roll to satisfy the motorheads. The Who. Old men singing old songs. Who are you? That kind of question is too philosophical this late in the day.