I am riding in the back of a pickup. I slide around with every turn. We arrive at the downs. My dad reads the racing-form rock. He is certain that our four horses will win. I sit in the bleachers with a tall, young couple wearing red Vicars shirts. They project symbols on the scoreboard. The girl playfully draws stitches on my neck with a sharpie. I feel it squeaking on my skin.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #287: At The Horse Races.
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