Little man lives big for a moment, for some moments, for a few minutes, perhaps an hour, too big to suffer being a joke between the ears of others even as he can glimpse the guffaw of laughter over the rumbling engine’s din.
But he’s stronger than you are. He knows he’s being laughed at, but it doesn’t bother him; he doesn’t care. Just look at the determination in his eye even a mere millisecond before the moment of impact.
He’s stronger than you are. He knows it and he doesn’t care, and you don’t know a damn thing at all.
Not fundamentally different, but fundamentally enough, he suffers under a presupposed curse that cannot be remedied by diet or surgery. Assuming you could climb in the car, could you endure what you would consider public humiliation?
Or would you own it?