"Wut?" asked the Corvette driver.
Averie raised his voice. "You mad?"
"Buzz off."
"Did I kiss your girl, skinhead?"
"Bugger off, you twat!"
"She's not your girl, man. She won't look at you if you were a mirror."
For some reason, both of their accents were getting ridiculously thick.
The Corvette driver stepped out of his car and marched towards Averie's Supra.
"You want a scrap, yeah?"
"Nah, fam."
Averie retrieved his head, rolled down his window, and locked the doors.
"I got a race to win, girls to entertain. Can't be fighting a bum."
"Come out!"
The man banged on Averie's window, cursing with a voice similar to that of a woman in labor.
"Come out, now!"
"Ready?" the flagger uttered, prompting the enraged driver to rush back to his seat.
She sent Averie a wink, and he salaciously stuck out his tongue.
He turned to the camera. "I don't know which of the girls he had his eye on—maybe it's the start girl—but losing his head before a race was a bad decision."
