True Tales of Tents, Foxes

There are no atheists in a three-person tent, pitched at a racetrack campground, with a lifted ’78 Blazer doing full-throttle doughnuts 20 yards away. To this I can swear a mighty oath. The more the other drunken campers howled and cheered on that pre-race-day Saturday night, the more Blazer dude hammered the throttle, hanging out the truck’s tail and whipping up giant clouds of campground dust. Once every revolution, the Blazer’s headlamp beams