He pulled into the turnaround at the base of the tower. The lighthouse was peeling and grey, but in the moonlight, it looked like bone. He stepped out of the car, his legs shaking.
(of the cars and the drifting maneuvers) Lighthouse Drift Park
There were no other drivers there. No radios. Just the wind whistling through the lantern room and the rhythmic thump-hiss of the waves. He realized then why they called it Drift Park. It wasn't just about the cars. It was a place where time itself seemed to slide sideways, leaving you suspended between the land and the deep, dark sea. He pulled into the turnaround at the base of the tower
He took off. The world narrowed to the twin beams of his headlights cutting through the mist. As he hit the first transition, he flicked the wheel. The back end stepped out, dancing on the edge of physics. The smell of scorched rubber and brine filled the cabin. (of the cars and the drifting maneuvers) There