He walked onto the track like a boss. He strutted really, as if the lane he was entering didn’t have a number larger than his age. His faux hawk hairdo was held in place by confidence and gel. And those glasses. Those glasses said, “I’ve arrived.” Those glasses reflected his future. Those glasses hid the excited eyes of a runner who had yet to taste defeat. Or victory.
He walked into lane six like he owned the place. And in that moment, he did.
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