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'Racing is my busines
my only business.'
By John D. Ulri ch
12
It's nine a.m. and I'm sitting on
th e side w alk in fro nt of Ge ne
Rom ero's apart ment in La Palma,
Cali fornia wo rryi ng about someone thinki ng I'm sus pic io us loo k ยท
ing, and playing with a pi llbug. I
suppose Gene's insi de asleep, since
he doesn' t answe r the doo r, bu t
add ress .and some construction worker
will co m e to the door with: a gun and
Th e piJIb ug's really stupi d . It 's
kicki ng its legs in the air, but eve ry time
I try to turn it o ver it cu rls in to an
arm or-p la ted ba ll, on ly to uncurl on to
its back when I wit hdra w my han d .
Kick , curl , and kick . Kick , curl. and
kick . Du mb bug.
I'm exa mi ning the em pty bee r can
kill me . May b e ...
occupying the fire extinguisher box set
then again maybe h e 's go t b et t er things
to do than han g out with a rep ort er for
most of a week . Mavh e h e 's not even in
the same ci ty. May be this is the wrong
int o th e st ucco apa rt m en t co m plex wall
when a head pok es ou t of the d o o r , eye s
th e pil e of no te books, tap e recorder ,
helm et , jacket, gloves, an d st raps sitti ng
next to the " Welcome " mat. p ivo ts to
th e right, an d ye lls "John."
Hot damn. li e rem emb ered .
Inside the tidy apa rt ment he shares
with car racer Jimmy Currut hers. Ge ne
