There’s something special about this time of year. Maybe it’s the roar of the crowd filling the air with magic as they cheer on the season’s big names, or the violent thrill of visceral joy that runs down a racer’s spine at watching another go careening toward certain death. Or maybe it’s heady scent of exhaust fumes and flaming engines wafting through the air, acrid and dizzying. It might even be the screams of alien pedestrians, unaware of the planned proceedings, scrambling to clear the track and mount some kind of defense before being run down. But whatever it is
