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

15 | Sheepshead Races | Race

Me: *breathes in the glorious air of a Race perspective* Hi again! This is the other short chapter of right after the strike, and let's see if this one is actually short haha. I hope you all liked that last chapter. I really like playing into gay malfunction and disaster bisexuality, if you haven't noticed. When I was rereading my story and writing that last chapter I was like "dang, do I write about anything else?" but apparently not haha. Anyway. Enjoy! :)

Race smiles to himself on his walk to Sheepshead Bay as he remembers Jack coming home to the lodging house last night. He was over the moon with ecstasy. Everyone was demanding details of how it went and got really excited when he told them. Everyone was happy for him; maybe even happier than he was himself.

I doubt anything like that could ever happen to me, Race sighs internally. He looks out to the water from the Brooklyn Bridge. Even if I wanted it. Could anyone actually want me like that? True, he's the light-hearted gambler with sass to spare, but he wants to love someone and be loved too, and have it mean something.

I thought that maybe I could have that with Spot. Race shakes his head. No. 

Nothing actually happened between him and Spot. It's just that...he hasn't seen Spot since he left Brooklyn after the carriage ride on the last day of the strike. They talked the whole way there, and they played with the gamblers Spot introduced him to a few nights before. After their games were over, the sun was close to the end of its journey in the sky, and Race and Spot parted ways. Race came into Sheepshead the next day, and the day after that. No sign of Spot. Jack has had more luck in love in one night than Race has had in gambling and platonic bonds in the past two days.

Sfortunato al gioco, fortunato in amore, he muses. Unlucky in cards, lucky in love. Except Jack got the lucky in love part. He doesn't want to dwell on this for too long.

It's probably not your fault, Race tries to tell himself. Maybe Spot's busy. Or maybe I'll see him today. Ya never know. But, you do know one thing. He puts more confidence in his steps. Number four better win today. 

Race is thoroughly happy that now they can sell back the papes that they don't sell. True, the prices are still a tenth a cent higher than they were before, but, inflation always happens, and also, Race won't have to eat paper ever again. Probably.

He's still able to sell at least twenty papes--and this is before he goes inside Sheepshead.

Once he heads inside, he's instantly at home.

The races haven't started yet, so he knows that he can make more than a single pretty penny by betting with potential newspaper buyers.

"'Scuse me miss, wouldya like to buy a pape?" Race asks a well-dressed woman. She gives him the penny, he gives her the pape. "Thanks, miss."

And so he goes on. With a "wouldya like to buy a pape, mista?" here, or a "Page three, very special news indeed--a building burn'd down, 43rd street." there, and plenty of "I got a hot tip on number four, how much you'se willin' to bet?"

And then the races begin. Race stops everything he's doing, transfixed, ready for it to start.

"Aaaaaaaaaaand there off!" the announcer's voice booms.

All the horses come hurtling out at once.

Come on, number four. Come on, number four! Race pleads silently. Remember when ya won against all odds? Remember? Remember? Of course he's well aware that the horse can't hear him.