They were fartlek training, Dale and Jerry. It was twilight, and the hills were inert except for the microscopic crumbling of gravel in places where their feet had been. They were on one of the faster intervals, and each was breathless, but breathless was beautiful.
Watcha gonna do
with your extra hour
when we turn the clocks
back next week?
Dale panted between gulps of air.
The boys mused on the handsome idea of a spare hour, their sharp breaths beating to the clockwork of their legs.
They were sprinting the last stretch before the summit, when finally Jerry exclaimed, as loudly as his lungs would allow—
Put it in a bank
Let it collect some interest
Sell it to sleep-deprived souls
The boys collapsed at the crest as dawn spilled down the hills.