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Michael Andretti eased himself comfortably into the cockpit, his Sparco suit whispering against the corded seatback. Belted, visored and gloved, he was ready to begin familiarizing himself with the newly designed instrument panel of the Ford Cosworth/Lola that had carried him to victory earlier in the CART season. Terry Saxton was the intelligence behind the new design, and waited eagerly for Andretti’s assessment.
“Terry, this temp display needs to be a bit more readable. Can you move it to the top?”
“Sure, Mr. A. I should have thought of that.”
“Everything else seems fine, but I’ll know more once we’re on the track this afternoon. Can I have a cloth?”
“Just a cloth?”
Terry found a clean white square of cotton and handed it to the famous driver. Andretti tucked the cloth carefully between his legs, then gripped the wheel with both hands and nestled himself tightly against the seat fabric. He paused, stilled himself, gathered his thoughts.
“Pppllplpplpllpllpppll!” His lips flapped against his tongue as he simulated the motor noise, droplets of saliva splattering against the inside of his visor, and threads of mucus dripping slowly from the mouth vents of his helmet onto his sleek silver racing suit.
Date Written: April 20, 2004
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