Driver parade soon.

Which means the grandstand
      has started doing grandstand things.

People hovering.

People drifting.

People looking
       at a clearly occupied seat
       with the full confidence
       of someone who believes

       eye contact is a legal document.

Vultures.

All of them.

Circling Section 126
         like this is nature footage
         and I am supposed

         to narrate my own defeat.

No.

Absolutely not.

Mike and I got here early.

Not cute early.

Not “oh look, we beat the rush” early.

Early early.

Drag the hangover through security and _fucking-make-it_ early.

Leave the BNB on time.

Find the right shuttle.

Ride the whole system
       before the day

       had finished becoming loud.

Walk in.

Scout.

Choose.

Claim.

Six perfect seats.

Two levels of Section 126.

Me.
Mike.
Lih-sia.
Mari.
Taha.
Sharesa.

Wait, Seven?

Here's Alabama Ron,
       having coffee with Sharesa,
       politely crashing our suite,
       and somehow immediately

       becoming part of the math.

Enough room
       for the whole ridiculous crew
           to see the day

           the way it deserves to be seen.

That's not luck.

That's track position.

And track position matters.

Ask literally anyone
    who has ever tried
        to pass into Turn 1.

You don't give up
    the clean line
     because someone else
      showed up late

       with hope and a backpack.

You defend.

Respectfully, if possible.

With eye contact, if required.

With the full spiritual posture
             of a man who knows
  exactly what these seats cost.

Late nights.

Early mornings.

Hundred-hour weeks.

The kind of work
    that does not look like racing
    until suddenly it buys you
    seven perfect angles
    on the thing

    you came all this way to feel.

So yes.

Guardian mode.

I am planted.

I'm polite…
    until politeness becomes
          a misunderstanding.

These seats are ours.

Paid for.

Woken up for.

Sweated through shuttle lines for.

Protected for the people
      who belong in them.

The drivers can parade.

The engines can warm.

The whole circuit can start
       shaking itself awake.

But here, right here,

in Section 126,

I am defending the line.

And if somebody wants
  to take these seats?

They can try me into Turn 1.