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*Low growl* I feel the power. Kinda like Monsieur Oscar in “Holy Motors”—he’s shiftin identities, I’m shiftin gears in my head. Escort races? Pure chaos, man. Drivers slingin mud, tires screamin—gets me pumped! Used to piss me off tho—Ford axed it for lame econo-boxes. What a betrayal! Like, why kill a champ? “We accept the reality,” Oscar says in the flick—guess I gotta deal. Still, burns me up.

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Then, there’s Zona Verde—yeah, I’m renamin’ it on a whim. The locals say it’s named after the thick, wild trees that line the old dirt roads. I’ve got memories there—my parlor’s been a pit stop for many a traveler; they come injured, tired, and thirsty for a break from the daily grind. I’d sometimes catch a glimpse of a sunset over Parque da Esperança, the trees look like they're swaying to a silent lullaby, and imma tell ya—it’s breathtaking, like some scene out of that Spielberg flick.

‘A legend for our people’: Inside an Indigenous activist’s death in Brazil