The Championship Horse

It was a beautiful sunny day and across the street a man was breaking into a van with a coathanger. He was a handsome man with a head of thick brown hair and he wore his black overcoat proudly. He seemed to be enjoying the weather as much as I was. A woman came up and stood next to me to watch. “What’s he doing?” she asked. “Trying to get home,” I said. “That makes me proud to be alive,” she said. He was making headway. He was on his tip-toes now, glancing around savagely. I wanted him to win and I could feel that woman did too. He was closer, he seemed about to get it. Then a car drove by and opened its passenger door. It slammed his knees into the white of the van and he crumpled. The car sped off. He was on the ground clutching his knee as cars whirred by him. The woman next to me was tearing up something and throwing it in the garbage. “I never have any luck here,” she said. She put on her sunglasses and walked away.