WHEN I WAS A RACE CAR DRIVER

When I was a race car driver, I used to keep a pumpkin on the seat next to me. It's heaviness and steadiness and purple orange rich insideness was always a comfort to me. But then it started to speak. It grew a mouth that was always fixed in a cruel grimace, and beady little eyes. It taunted me with all my most intimate doubts and fears. I almost crashed several times punching it and screaming for it to shut up. I sure liked the damn thing better when it was inanimate. But superstition stopped me from simply throwing it out.