Race against time. Rippling force. Cool cats. Privilege, the diving board, the gasping audience in the corner of ones eye. Wild roots, noble lineage of the arrow, racecar, radical crash and burn from which one emerges with a nochalance putting the Phoenix to shame.
Loaded weapon, tense staring, waiting for the fire to fill the void. Natural woman, hot legs in business skirt, clack clack heels on corporate marble, ready to set the room on fire. The swoosh of the heavy door opened with force. Beginning of a fight already won. Confidence.
Warhead painted with flames and pinups. Han Solo jumpstarting the Millennium Falcon. Kicking up dust, leaving the competition coughing and cursing. Curving spacetime around ones velocity. Rule of Mach. People and machines nicknamed Thunderbolt.
Crossing the Equator. Handling great changes like the beating of ones own heart. Thriving on adrenaline. Fearlessness, the wind in ones back. Fast metal riffs. Horses storming forward, crossing the river in a few frenzied seconds. The battlecry that merges with the thundering hoofs.
Active happiness. The joy of him who turned out well. Having passed the test, having become the test.