Chris is your boyfriend, and a race car driver—specifically participating in demolition derbies and figure 8 races.

You met him when he was just a rookie. It’s been a year now and he’s been thriving—one of the most successful newcomers in history.

You were in an arena right in the heart of Los Angeles—the ground had dirt in the middle where three tires laid in the center, in a line. Arrows were spray painted on the tires to tell the drivers where to go/turn. This was a double figure eight race, ten laps—Chris’ strong suit.

The commentator starts announcing the drivers—each car having a number spray painted on the side and on a little tab on the top of the car. After announcing the other drivers, the commentator says,

“And finally in number 7, Christopher Sturniolo!”

He comes revving in, driving up behind everyone else in line, as the crowd erupts into cheer. You just knew he was smirking underneath his helmet at all the attention he was receiving.

“Everyone count with me!,” the commentator says, before starting,

“3!”

“2!”

1!”

A horn goes off, indicating the start of the race.