33 CAMERON CAITIFF
October 27
It was early evening and already dark out when I left the gas station’s convenience store off of I-20 with some Slim Jims and a Gatorade. As I got to my truck, I saw a Firebird doing at least 95 mph blow past me. Flinging the bag onto the passenger side, I leapt into my seat, turned on the flashers and siren, and took off after the son-of-a-b***h.
“Yeah! Come on, now!” I said to no one, grinning from ear to ear as I stomped the gas pedal of my F150 to the floor. “That’s right, man. I’m coming for ya!” I locked my eyes on the glowing red taillights ahead. Chasing someone always got my blood pumping. It wasn’t just about driving fast. No. It was more than that, something primal, something powerful. I was a hunter, and they were the prey. The cars up ahead too
