Dale and Jerry

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.