Two souped up cars sat quivering at the light; their teenage owners were ready to go speeding down the road. Over the roar of the motors, the guy in the green Chevy yelled, "Gene, that's a mighty fine custom you have there."

"Yeh, I got it for a steal, too. You recall the kid who was killed about a month or so ago in that big auto wreck in town? Well, I picked up his car at a used car lot. There was a lot of work to be done on the body; it was a mess, but the motor was in great condition. It will probably beat anything on the road."

"Sure, I bet," Pat hollered as the light turned green. He gunned the motor, just asking for a drag.

Gene took the dare and went after him. Faster and faster the two autos rode, side to side down the two‑lane rode‑75‑80‑85. Sweat drops began to fall from Gene's forehead. He was scared, but he wouldn't chicken. He couldn't. What would everyone think of him? Then, suddenly, a cement truck came up in front of him! There was no time to turn, no time to do anything. Gene then felt an awful pain, then nothing.

His roadster sits at the used car lot again. The body is in pretty bad shape, but the motor is good. It can be bought for a steal, and the dealer says with a little work it will probably beat anything on the road.