Marijuana felt a brief flash of guilt at the death of the dog, but there was a race to win and he was falling dangerously behind. A loss of a few feet meant the possible loss of the race and Marijuana's teeth gritted tightly as PCP surged ahead of him. "You bitch!" He shouted, although it was doubtful that his sister heard him over the roar of engines. He tapped the gas again, the car jolting as he hitched up onto the curb in an attempt to pass her by. Again, the danger of spinning out seemed inevitable and he glanced to his right, watching convenience stores and dry cleaners pass too close to the side of his car.
He lost control. Rather than crash into the shops, he jerked the steering wheel one last time and clipped the back bumper of PCP's car hard. If he was going to spin out and lose, he sure as hell didn't want her to win.