It’s the night before the Florida 500. Lightning McQueen isn’t sleeping. He’s parked in the infield, staring at a holographic replay of his wreck. The crash that ended his body, but not his mind.
It was neither.
Jackson Storm will break every record I ever set. But he’ll never understand why I let Cruz pass me. He’ll call it pity. He’ll call it fear. Cars 3 Site Drive.google.com