Dylan Beatch

Little Black Book

Mavericks enormous chest heaved in short bursts, sweat gleaned slick on his russet coat and his legs were still, making it easy for Jude to scrape away at the metal brackets and dislodge the hard packed clay and gravel from the track. Moment’s before, Maverick had crossed the finish line cementing his fifth win in a month. The jockey Thomas was bouncing around the stable shaking hands with the stable boys, posing, dwarfed beside mavericks stoic figure as the large light bulbs burst above the journalists cameras. Maverick was still, his job was done, Jude’s had begun, his work was the horses feat and massaging his legs. Thomas had always told him a race is won from the ground up, every member of his team equally as important as the horse himself.