The Punisher Called

He want’s his logo back

If you haven’t driven in Atlanta, imagine a NASCAR track designed by someone who thought The Road Warrior needed more semis: a sixty-mile circle packed with cars that may have driven off the set of a Vin Diesel movie, vehicles that surrendered to rust sometime during the Clinton administration, and quarter panels held on with duct tape and prayer. All of it moving at speeds that suggest thermodynamics is more of a guideline than a law.

A couple of weeks ago I was tooling down this giant super slab—we call it 285, which is Old English for The Circle of Despair.

Traffic was moderate, which in Atlanta means vehicles were moving anywhere between 45 miles per hour (one cargo van carrying what appeared to be every ladder in the Southeast) and 85 miles per hour. I was in the left lane, traveling slightly above the average, when I spotted a giant pickup truck gaining on me as if it had been launched from a rail gun.

When I say giant, I want you to understand that I could see the driveshaft spinn…