Chapter 15

93 1 0
                                    



IrisSinclair
Baku, Azerbaijan
Tagged LandoNorris and OscarPiastri

IrisSinclairBaku, Azerbaijan Tagged LandoNorris and OscarPiastri

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Liked by OscarPiastri, LandoNorris and 7230 others

IrisSinclair   🧡🧡

@user   I want to be you

@user   She's a McLaren girl

@LandoNorris   Papaya Girly Pop🤪
          @IrisSinclair   What have you done with Lando
            Liked By OscarPiastri


@LandoNorris   Papaya Girly Pop🤪          @IrisSinclair   What have you done with Lando            Liked By OscarPiastri

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.




Iris

The sun bore down unrelentlessly on the track, its heat performing a lively dance on my skin.
Today was race day in Baku, a day thrumming with the anticipation of on-track battles for points.
The atmosphere was electric, a sea of people milling around as teams fervently prepped their cars for the imminent race.
My lens caught glimpses of Martin Brundle, deep in conversation, the hustle of the teams, and the intense focus of the drivers.

Navigating through the bustling crowd, I found myself at the P10 starting position, where the vibrant Papaya of McLaren stood out markedly.
Exchanging greetings with the engineers, I captured their pre-race rituals, my camera lens meticulously seeking out the perfect angles and lighting.
Lost in my work, I was abruptly brought back to reality by two hands gripping my shoulders and a loud "Oi!" right in my ears.

My heart skipped a beat, and I spun around, ready to confront the source of my fright.

"Jesus Christ, Oscar, you scared the shit out of me," I exclaimed, relief flooding in as I recognized him.

His laughter, hearty and infectious, filled the air. "That's the point, Ri," he chuckled, clearly amused by my reaction.

Shaking off the surprise, I playfully slapped his arm, letting my camera dangle securely around my neck. "How are you feeling about the race?" I inquired, hoping his nerves were tinged with excitement rather than anxiety.

He paused, running a hand through his hair - a telltale sign of his nerves. "I'm nervous, but I'm eager to get out there and try to score some points. I need to show McLaren I'm worth it," he confessed, his gaze intense and earnest.

RHYTHM OF THE RACE | Oscar PiastriWhere stories live. Discover now