RUSH HOUR INVASION
Find a basement.Â Fill it with bodies, a DJ, beer, and a stage for the performers.Â Close the doors, set the records spinning, and let the stifling summer heat of Texas fill the room.Â
One by one the combatants strut out of the brickwork.Â Cross dressing males fitted with full sleeve tattoos.Â Toothless bib wearing fixters.Â Cleanly shaven pros.Â Killer vixens wearing plaid skirts and knee high stockings.Â
A member from each team steps up onto the stage to address one of four rigs awaiting its driver.Â They mount, strap in, sit up, and breathe in deep the noise of the crowd.Â The announcer yells something at the microphone signaling for the participants to ready themselves.Â
Hands are placed in the drops.Â Some look coolly straight ahead imagining their destination.Â Others stare straight down at their feet.Â
And as quickly as the buzzer pierces the air the racers legs are spinning at cartoonish speed.Â A thousand meters comes and goes rather quickly with only one coasting away with the victory.Â
More pictures can be found here.