As all the riders drew closer to the checkpoint, night began to consume the sky in dark, warm tones. The deserted area grew cooler as people cheered on their loved ones, watching from afar on the train or some even the blimp. You were standing on the front of the sidelines, closer to the end of them, watching the checkered line and who was to cross it first.

A long, blond haired man crossed it so very in the nick of time, beating his fellow racers by milliseconds. He came to a stop, his horse panting for breath. A wide, golden smile spread across his face, his grills depicting “GO! GO! ZEPPELI!”, encased in lips of green. He looked at the onlookers, making a steady eye contact with you for a moment.

Once off his horse, he was swarmed by newsmen and women. Once they had let him be, he made his way towards you. You stood on the bottom log of the fence, leaning over it to see as much as you could of the race. He approached you, seeing your hair billow in the dry wind.

“Hey darling,” He said, removing his hat and placing it over your head. His voice was smooth, with an accent mixed of southern and Italian dialects. Anyone paying attention gave a light giggle or quiet gasp at his bold move. “Think you may ‘preciate that.”