To a sprinter, the hundred-yard dash is over in three seconds, not nine or ten.
It's like having a pet dog for a long time. You get attached to it, and when it dies you miss it.
Every morning, just like in Alabama, I got up with the sun, ate my breakfast even before my mother and sisters and brothers, and went to school, winter, spring, and fall alike to run and jump and bend my body this way and that for Mr. Charles Riley.
I'd noticed him watching me for a year or so, especially when we'd play games where there was running or jumping.
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