At the Track
The horses line up at the gate all in a neat row. Behind me I hear the bellow of a man who has bet
the last of his money on a sure loser. I
don’t spoil the surprise for him.
“Baby
needs a new pair of shoes,” he yells out.
His
baby will be wearing a newspaper wrapped around its feet before the end of the
day. I wonder if I haven’t become too
jaded to care. I wonder that instead of
caring.
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