Not far from home, Faulk turns off the stereo and confesses as to how he's having difficulty controlling his spending. "I have an allowance," he says, "but it's hard for me to stick to it; the money's so new, you know." In addition to the cars, he has bought uniforms for every team at Carver High, and he has bought the school weightlifting and other performance-enhancing equipment. He's also paying for an addition to the football offices at San Diego State. A quarter of a million, that project will run. And Faulk's donating every penny.
"Marshall," Reese told him, "there comes a point when you'll have to stop." His agent, Rocky Arceneaux, told him the same thing. "Marshall," he said, "you can't save the world."
"We didn't have much when I was growing up," Faulk says. "The projects, you know. And I was always dreaming. Mainly it was cars I dreamed about—I dreamed about them all the time. Somebody might look at me buying all these cars as a stupid thing to do, but I used to wish that I could have a car. Just any kind of car. Just one." He is thoughtful, wrapped in the deep, searing quiet of a vehicle too often filled with noise. "I like to be happy, and this is how I do that. I don't know how long I'll be able to live like this. Hopefully it'll be forever." He's reaching to turn the radio back up. "Hopefully," he says again before suddenly finding himself silenced by Snoop Doggy Dogg.
Nobody plays forever, but Faulk is only 22, and it's such a pretty thing to see him run. Such a pretty, pretty thing.
"My next car?" He's shouting now; he has to. "I don't know what my next car will be. Nobody knows. And I don't know when I'll see it and have to have it. Next month, next week, tomorrow." He's shaking his head, laughing above the terrible, pounding rhythm that is the music of his life.