It's 3 AM and Jim Peterik is hard at work, writing a song. He is reclining in his office – a gunmetal grey Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder with lipstick red interior – rocketing down the deserted freeway at 135 mph. He wears the car well, like a fitted Italian suit of aluminum and leather. There is poetry at the center of his exhilaration and fear, and he focuses on the rhythmic beat of the tires against the concrete seams, as reflections of the sodium-vapor lights slide up the hood and over the sensuous contours of the body. Rolling a lyric around in his head, he fluidly shifts, and the V-10's lionesque roar changes key, rising to a sweet, metallic hum that harmonizes nicely with his voice as he begins to sing...
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