October 4, 2006
The second dream: Lean dogs are racing around the track, biting one another. Trotters are running a graceful ice ballet in the snow while I drink a vodka gimlet. A man with short silver hair sits across a table from me in a wheel chair. Leaning over he is slurping beef tips and noodles. On the bleachers above us a greyhound is stretched out panting. She wears Number 09. The sulkies in the snow outside have become chariots, warriors circling the track warily. Number 09 watches them. The man across from me stabs a sliver of rare beef.