Two men decide to go to the horse race
Holding cold hard cash for the first time in weeks, Stan felt like someone had opened his lungs again so he could breath. 1936 might be a good year after all.
"What's the plan?" Asked Bill nudging Stan in the shoulder.
"No plan. Martha is waiting for this money. Tomorrow she'll buy us a steak, and maybe even some vegetables. Maybe even a fruit!"
Bill looked disappointed, "Come on Stan the man, you said 'straight to the horses!'. Now listen here. You know my cousin Harry works at the stables and he says Jacky always wins. Wouldn't you want to surprise Martha with two hundred dollars?"
"I did say that." Said Stan feeling guilty as hell. "My word is my bond."
At the track, "what'd I tell you Stan! Look at him go!"
Stan felt his knees shake having deposited all of his paycheck at the bookies. But the thrill and excitement brushed all that bad feeling away. "Let's go down there." Stan led bill to the bottom row right above where the horses ran. He wanted to be as close as he could.
"Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!"
They stopped and bought hot dogs. Stan was so hungry he began wolfing down the sausage.
"Excuse me. Excuse me." Said Stan pushing through, "Pardon me sir. Pard…" The sausage got stuck in his throat and he began chocking.
People around him noticed and let him through. He felt his head explode as he leant on the rail. The horses were coming close but he could only focus on trying to breathe.
Bill slapped him on the back hard and the sausage piece flew through the air hitting Jacky the horse right in the eye. Jacky veered off the track crashing into a fence.
"What's the plan now?" Asked Stan.