This Ain't Just Newsies No More ~ Sprace & Javid

20 | Getting Closer | Race

How many times do I have to say I love Race's perspective? I freaking love Racetrack so much. Also: Race's theme song: The Gambler by Kenny Rogers. Remember how I said imagine if Race meets Bartolomeo? Well. Enjoy! :)

Race is in a good mood going to Brooklyn today. There's a good headline, he saw Spot two days in a row, and yesterday he told Spot about his big win at Sheepshead when number four won a few days ago, and got a really positive reaction.

Does this mean he and Spot are re-becoming friends again? Race hopes so. He missed Spot in the days where he didn't see him.

Sell as many papes as you can, Race tells himself. 'Cause the more papes sold, the more bets you can make. And if you bet correctly? Adds another reason to see Spot.

And with those thoughts in mind he heads in to Sheesphead Races, knowing that with his charms and an actual good headline, he'll sell many, many papes.

------

Race lost more bets than he thought he would. He sighs. He looks at his collection of coins. He has enough, but...it wasn't as much as he would have hoped. Sure, he sold all his papes, easy. He made too many bad bets, though.

Hey, it could have been worse, Race tries to reason with himself sullenly. You win some and lose some.

That last sentence in his mind brings back memories from Irving Hall last week.

High times, hard times, sometimes the living is sweet. And sometimes there's nothing to eat. But I always lands on my feet! So when there's dry times, I wait for high times again.

Race chuckles at the memory. Then there's more Medda singing, followed by everyone shouting, You win some and lose some, my dear! And Race and Blink were dancing with Medda. 

Those were some good times. Well. They were good, until the bulls came.

Race doesn't want to further reminisce in Memory Lane.

He reaches to his pocket to bring out a cigar, then realizes he doesn't have one. To think about it, he hasn't had a cigar at hand since...

He doesn't want to think about it.

He's actually doing fine without a cigar.

No reason to get annoyed with Snipeshooter in the morning. 

Who needs to damage their lungs with a bunch of smoke anyway?

Before Race can go on that track too long, he sees Spot.

He smiles. "Hiya, Spot!"

Spot smiles when he sees Race and comes to him. "Hey, Race. How's bettin' today?"

"Not good." Race sighs. "Headline was good, not the bettin'."

"Well, ya win some and lose some," Spot responds sympathetically.

Race looks at Spot. "I was just thinkin' about that. Like the song Medda sung?"

Spot laughs. "Oh, yes, I remember that. I especially remember you'se makin' a fool out of yourself."

Race flushes a little. "What? No."

"Oh? It wasn't you who was so enthusiastic about a certain vaudeville gal, linked arms with her, dancing around in an exhilaration stupor?"

Race smirks. "Glad you was payin' so much attention to me."

That catches Spot off guard, and he sputters a little. Then he huffs, rolls his eyes good naturedly and glares at Race.