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"That
girl" in particular was a six-foot-something Amazon, with
legs from here to Florida. She was stunning, a vision in a
tennis dress and a floppy, straw hat. But it wasn't just "that
girl." Out of the 20,000 people who made it to the races,
it seemed like all the girls looked like that, at least a
little bit.
"Goldschlager
shots here!" a girl standing on the back of a Ford called
out, like something out of Coyote Ugly. She wore a suede miniskirt
and a black tank top. In two seconds flat, Nick and Jason
were down on their knees, sucking alcohol off an ice block.
"That
was very nice of her," Jason said, licking his lips. "Very
nice. All right. Come on, let's go. Next stop, just ahead."
Two
girls -- Chewey and Shasha -- were sporting homemade, one-of-a-kind
Race Day hats and mocking the scantily clad women making laps
around the track.
"We've
been coming here for 10 years," Chewey said. Her hat was very
impressive, with a Barbie doll and rearing stallion perched
on top. "We look for good tailgating, decent parties."
"And
most retarded shoes!," Shasha added. "Like that," she pointed
to a trio of girls, wearing matching stacked, straw heels.
Two
minutes later, an emergency golf cart sped past, carrying
a girl nursing a swollen ankle the size of a grapefruit. At
her feet, a pair of stacked, straw heels.
We
passed more girls in halter dresses and cowboy hats. Most
guys were wearing your basic baggy shorts paired with Hawaiian-inspired
button-downs. One guy wore a blue oxford with the words "Seeking
Single First Mate for Adventurous Caribbean Cruise, Inquire
Within" stitched on the back.
By
1 p.m., the track was blazing hot. Guys were taking off their
T-shirts left and right, flexing their pecs. Girls were laughing.
Jason
pulled a bottle of Tropico out of his backpack and mixed it
with orange juice. "This is Tropico. Very sensual," he told
me. A blonde in a sundress passed us, and Jason's head snapped
like something out of The Exorcist. "Hey, hey, didn't I meet
you last night?" he asked, running to catch up.
One
girl put down her Kate Spade bag and did a keg stand, her
strappy sandals in the air.
Another
girl wearing a floral-print sun dress and a smart straw bonnet
leaned over the rail and tossed her cookies.
"This
is just weird, man," Nick said. "So many weird things are
happening, and it feels like we just got here."
"It's
like your parents having a frat party," Mike said.
By 4 p.m., Jason had an orange Tropico puddle running down
his white T-shirt. He also had six numbers stored in his cell
phone. He beamed like a proud papa passing out cigars.
We
were done for the day. At least, until NASCAR roars into town.
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