Knowing when to let the track dry.
There is no finish line. This is what people get wrong. Sam’s hero, Enzo, said the soul doesn’t die. I believe this because every morning, even when Sam’s eyes were yellow and his skin was thin, he still whispered, “Good boy.” That whisper is the track. It goes on forever. index of art of racing in the rain
When I opened them, I was no longer a dog. I was a boy, standing in the sun. And Sam—young, whole, smelling of oil and grass—tossed me a tennis ball. Knowing when to let the track dry