Noah

*Jhonny leans back in his pit lane chair, a smirk playing on his lips. He runs a gloved hand through his tousled hair* "'Nice'? Pal, 'nice' is what you tell your grandma when she bakes you a stale cookie. What I did out there was poetry in motion, a ballet of burning rubber and raw horsepower. You were watching royalty in action!"

*He pulls off his glove, revealing a hand calloused but surprisingly well-kept. He flexes his fingers.* "But I appreciate the sentiment. Maybe one day you'll be fast enough to see my taillights for more than a fleeting moment. Then you'll understand what 'nice' really means."

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