Dirty

I feel dirty, I've done something knowing whole heartedly that it was wrong. I regretted the decision the minute I made it. I could have turned around, swallowed my pride and went about my day like it never happened.

No one would have been the wiser, it would have just been a dark secret I kept to myself. A shame I would carry with me deep in the recesses of my soul.

However that's not what I did, those Demon's voices, they grew louder. Screaming at a fever pitch, an eerie wail from the depths of the sea.

The rationale is sane, their argument valid. "The go will be no this time dear friend, have the cake, it's just as good as the pie!" They said as I sat there in the parking lot, engine idling. "Everyone has to make a few compromises to their morals at times" I thought to myself out load.

There are people that spend countless hours to achieve the water level of the Black Pearl, what's 2 more inches between the deck and the surface. I can change it later, I can always change it later. Will later ever come?

It's as though I'm the flag at the center of a tug of war. On my left the incredible desire for speed. Speeds into, through and out of corners.  While on my right the nagging enticement of the aesthetic of it all.

One surely doesn't always support the other. Tucked whitewalls on 15's with tire swallowing skirts isn't the first thing that comes to the mind when imagining a carver. Wood rimmed steering wheels are usually reserved for temperamental Italians, while feather quick turn in is an attribute of engineered Germans, not big American classics.

The Pearl has still a great distance to travel, years of nobal service left to give. Although one day before she sails off after I've lost my abilities the wrestle the helm, we'll make our way through those corners together.

For now, as we wait, idling in the parade line for a spot at the curb for the springs first coming shows, I'll hold my head in shame, knowing that I bought that extra 2 inch lowering block.