another day I am sweating, battling, scratching, praying, jack- ing to stay 10 or 12 bucks ahead, and it is a very difficult harness race, I don't even think the drivers know who is going to win, and this big fat woman, ponderous whale of healthy stinking blubber, walked up to me, put that stinking fat against my body front, and squeezed 2 little eyes, a mouth and the rest into my face and said, "what are the hands on the first horse?" "the hands on the first horse?" "yes, what are the hands on the first horse?" "god damn you lady, get away from me, and don't bother me.
get away! get away!" she did.
the whole track is full of crazy people.
some of them come there when the gates open.
they stretch out on the seats or on a bench and sleep all through the races.
they never see a race.
then they get up and go home.
others wall around just vaguely aware that a race of some kind is going on.
they buy coffee or just stand around looking as if life has been stunned and burned out of them.
or sometimes you see one standing in a dark corner, jamming a whole hot dog down the throat, gagging, choking, delighted with the mess of themselves.
and at the end of each day you see one or 2 with their heads down between their legs.
