The Horizon Dash
Joe looked into the telescope to see across the plain of low yellow grass, to the horizon where Feet Speedman was a wavering brown dot on the brink of going away. Joe had a sweaty plastic stopwatch in his hand and he turned it up to his eye. “Three hours fifteen seconds,” he said. “Faster Feet!” A clipboard rested next to his light green flip-flops, and there was a paper there that had some numbers scribbled down in a slouching column. The smallest number on top, circled in blue ink: “3:21.34.”
Inside the telescope Feet rippled in and out, the heat rolling over the grass.
Joe screwed his eye in the viewfinder. Official games were in a week. Either they had it or not.
Then Feet disappeared at 3:20:56 and Joe clicked the stopwatch. Joe howled and stepped on the clipboard by mistake.
The Horizon Dash was theirs to lose.
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