Just as Michael was about to suggest they turn around, they rounded a corner and found a massive makeshift parking lot nestled between a large group of shipping containers, filled to the brim with all kinds of cars.

Hundreds of men and women bustled between the various vehicles, wearing stuff like Nismo vintage T-Shirts, and old school Ferrari baseball caps.

Michael and Michelle turned and headed towards a long line of cars entering through some kind of toll gate. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tall man in a baseball cap and hoodie sprinted in front of them, waving his arms. Michael, who was leading, slammed on the brakes.

"What the hell are you kids doing!"

Michael rolled down his window.

"Uh, my sister and I... we uh... came here to race... " He stuttered.

"You two look a bit young for that..." The man said quickly, as he craned his neck to look back at Michelle. "How old are you two?"

"16. We're twins." Michael answered steadily, relieved he was finally asked a question he could answer properly.

"Well that was the legal driving age... back before the whole license thing was abolished, and we've certainly had younger..." The man seemed to be talking to himself rather than Michael now.

"Uh..." Michael wasn't sure what to reply, and also didn't want to disrupt the man's thoughts, as he felt his fate might be about to be decided right there.

"Well shit. Those are some serious cars, you're too young to be cops, and you had to have the skill to make it here in one piece... sooo yeah I guess we can find something to enter you two in. Park those rides in the two empty slots by the E class teams!" He motioned to a group of sedans parked at the edge of the lot.

The man ran off. Michael parallel parked next to the group of sedans, Michelle parked next to him. Michael stepped out of his car, realizing how cold the air was. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the Mustang and put it on. Michelle was already wearing a white hoodie over her blouse.

"So what do we do now?" Michelle asked with a hint of impatience in her voice.

"Just look around and wait I guess, until that guy shows up." Michael said.

Michelle nodded. Looking around wouldn't be very difficult. There were hundreds of cars, everything from rare, heavily modified Japanese Tuner imports, expensive European Exotics, and homegrown, powerful American Muscle cars.

Michael inspected the car parked next to him. A 2015 Toyota Corolla. Bright red, faded paint, new rims. Rounded, curvy design with a bit too many fake vents. Ugly as sin, but charming, like a pug.

Michael peeked in the interior. A roll cage with fire extinguisher, lightweight steering wheel and a...child seat in the back? It had a sticker on the rear window that said "Deadbeat Dadz Crew" in white 8-bit font.

Michael moved to the car next to it. A white 2014 Chevrolet Cruze, with a front bash bar and black racing stripes. Same things on the interior, roll cage and child seat. Michael supposed the owners of these cars were some kind of team or racing crew. Michael moved towards the center of the group. Mostly low level midsize family sedans, everything from Camry's to Fusions with minor modifications for safety and performance.

Teams like this made up the backbone of the modern motorsports community, racing in anything with four wheels and a decent engine that survived the second Cash for Clunkers deal after DriveNet went online. The result was, at least in the lower classes, a random collection of run-of-the-mill family sedans, light pickup trucks, SUVs and even minivans all racing together in amateur races, usually modified for reliability and safety, and often converted to run on ethanol or electricity because real gasoline was so expensive. Racing Authority often advertised the big high level professional racing series, such as the jet propelled Formula-X race cars that raced on purpose built tracks, but the heart of racing in 2065 generally remained with the masses, driving family cars passed down through generations or found in scrapyards, raced on city streets in the dead of night. Cars like Michael's Mustang and Michelle's S13 had become rare sought after classics, ripe for modifications.

***********

Michelle seemed to dart around, gazing at every interesting car she could find. Eventually she ran back to Michael and dragged him away from leaning on his Mustang in anxious confusion.

"Look!"

She pointed to a group of 5 bright orange cars parked in a group. There was a 1969 Camaro SS, a boxy vintage muscle car with black stripes painted on its roof, which looked mostly stock save for body colored bumpers and side mounted exhaust pipes. Next to it was a very old and rusty looking 1949 Mercury Coupe, a rounded hot rod. On the other side of the Mercury was a modern Chevrolet Camaro ZL1, a futuristic American sports car, which looked entirely stock, save for aftermarket wheels. Next to the Camaro was a first generation Ford F-150 Raptor pickup truck, which was heavily lifted, and fitted with massive road tires and spotlights. Finally, there was a stunning 2016 Dodge Viper GTS, a long hooded sleek sports cars. At first glance it seemed stock but bolted to its fenders were very subtle widebody fender flares. These cars were probably worth more money than Michael could hope to make in his whole life.

"Nice, so a bunch of Muscle cars..." Michael said quietly.

"This place is amazing... apparently that crew rules Kempton... we may end up racing them!" Michelle said, her eyes glowing with excitement.

"Ok, that's nice... I don't honestly think we'll make it THAT far..."

Michelle bit her lip, still thinking about it. "Yeah.. I'd like to though..."

"Michelle we're just here to see if we can make rent..." Michael carefully reminded her.

"It's just a thought..."

They moved on to a group of extremely expensive cars. A bright green Lamborghini Huracan, a wedge shaped Italian supercar, a Ferrari F40, and several tuned Corvettes and Nissan GT-Rs. Michael had always seen and heard about such legendary cars on the internet, often the highest level machines of their time. In their day, they were status symbols for the rich, locked away in warehouses and eventually forgotten... until they were found and restored by the generation of racers. Michael had always secretly believed these cars never existed. Numbers such as 1000 horsepower and 8 second quarter miles didn't sound real. Hence, they were many racer's dream cars.

Michelle made a beeline for a matte black Nissan GT-R with chrome wheels and turbo exhaust pipes protruding from its carbon fiber hood. Michael simply stood in the middle and admired the vast assortment of cars and people. It was all new, yet it was familiar. These were other people who spoke the language, who felt the need for speed. He heard murmurs of phrases such as "2JZ" and "understeer".

He was content just to stand here. It was comforting to know that him and his family weren't the only ones who still enjoyed cars and driving for the sake of it. Even considering that all anyone seemed to be doing was stand around and talk while their cars remained parked.

Suddenly, as if on queue, almost everyone there dropped what they were doing and ran towards the edge of the meet, lining up on the adjacent street.

Michael and Michelle followed them, puzzled.

The crowd fell silent. The faint bleat of gas engines was heard, growing louder.

Michael could pick out the sounds of tires and brakes squealing.

Suddenly, headlights poked out from around the corner, and a fleet of about 20 Mazda Miatas from various colors and model generations came buzzing around the turn and down the straight, like a bunch of skittles being dumped out of a bag. Back fires popped like gunshots, and the whistle of turbochargers and whines of superchargers echoed off the shipping containers and tall buildings.

They buzzed past. A spray paint black NB with taped headlights leads, followed by a red NA with googly eyes stuck over its lights. A third, shiny electric blue NA with LED lights, a hardtop roof, and black "MX-5" decals on its side skirts followed in third place. The the blue NA accelerates past the red one, and pulls alongside the spray painted NB. It inched past the the NB, crossing the finish line, which was marked by two red flares, a half car length ahead.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Michael and Michelle cheered too, but they had no idea why. It was simply the energy of the place that filled them with joy. The crowd parted and the rest of the Miatas crossed the line, turned around, and headed back into the meet. The drivers pulled in triumphantly, waving their fists in the air. They all wore different clothing, they could be from any culture or any walk of life. The bright blue Miata that had just won the race revved up and did a donut in the middle of the parked cars, blowing smoke everywhere. The crowd cheered some more.

"Wow..." Michael heard his sister whisper, an expression of awe spreading across her face.

Michael smiled. He felt at ease here. He wasn't alone.

**********

The race winner was given a trophy by a pretty woman in a tight black dress. The crowd lifted him up and he was carried off, like a gladiator who returned from some far off battle, eternally victorious.

Michael has always felt that victory didn't matter as long as the race was good. But hey, winning wouldn't hurt.

"There you kids are. Where the fuck have you been? The organizers looked at your cars, they are putting you in the next race, it's international B class, get ready!"

*********