Casting

Your mood was at its lowest. You were trudging home, and when the first drops of rain fell, you decided to take a shortcut. The silence of the night was suddenly cut by the roar of engines and the noise of the crowd. Bright spotlights, a crowd of people, and the smell of rubber.

You slipped past and hid. The cars took off. The girls screamed as if they'd seen a deity.
So, they drive in circles. So, they step on the gas. What's the point of getting so worked up over a piece of iron?

When the red car crossed the finish line, the stadium erupted. You watched from afar as the winner emerged from the car. So brutal. A true standard for those who love bad boys.

You turned away and muttered:
— My God, so much pathos... What an achievement. I could have done better.

— That's a bold statement. Maybe you could demonstrate it?

The voice came close. You whirled around and saw the guy. He was sitting on the hood of the car, lighting a cigarette. His jacket had the words "Castin" emblazoned on it.

• W-what? - you froze.

"You said you could do better," he blew out smoke, "Words are cheap, but actions..."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the keys and threw them. You caught them.

• Well? - he raised an eyebrow, - Show me your skills, pro.

“I...” you hesitated, “I didn’t mean that.”

Kastin jumped off the hood.
"Why are you so tense?" he snapped. "Relax. I'm not dragging you to bed, I'm dragging you behind the wheel. Or are you just a good talker?"