Every weekend, my dad makes his way to the basement and takes a seat at a desk tucked away in the corner. Flipping on switches and a light, he prepares to talk to strangers around the world.
The crowd around my friend stood up; the noise level rose as the crowd started cheering for their favorite horses, making their way around the final curve and into the home stretch.
It was dark and crisp. A railfan stood perched, staring down the tracks, with camera and scanner in hand. The sun began to rise over the horizon, blanketing the tracks with shades of yellow and orange.
I was excited about the start of the Tennessee Lottery. Realizing I probably won’t win, I usually enjoy the occasional rush of the scratch-off ticket. Yet, with the games being weeks old, I haven’t yet made the plunge.
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