The Rules of Luck

As it turned out I’d actually been listening to my Uncle Wayne and his racetrack talk, trapped, all those years, at the holiday dinner table. Not enough to learn anything, but enough to pick up the flavor of the sport. The OTB storefront on Jericho Turnpike in Queens, Belmont, nicotine-stained walls, harsh lighting, a blinding amount of stats coming up on the monitors, horses getting put down, drinking glasses with naked girls on them, litter, a lot of sitting around. On the day it was my turn, and I was headed to my first horse race, I…

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