He held his Gameboy a few inches from his face, struggling to find a comfortable angle to view it from. The screen wasn’t backlit, so it had to be held at just the right degree from his nightstand lamp to see it. Tilt too far to the left, and the screen was nothing but reflected glare; too far to the right, and the images on the screen were dark and indiscernible. What a pain. While he fidgeted with his video game, the sound of screaming tires cut through the quiet night. Rubber, spinning and burning in place, making an ungodly squealing screech. Benji dropped his Gameboy on his pillow and leapt from his bed, then hurried to his window. On the street below he watched a ’74 Dodge Challenger burning out right in front of the Emerson home. A thick fog of smoke and dust enveloped the vehicle, making the driver hard to identify. The tires stopped, the smoke began to clear, and Benji saw him behind the steering wheel, his wide face illuminated by a street lamp.
