glasgow dog track. barely still functioning, it attracts people entirely nonchalant or entirely desperate. they intermingle here, these two groups. somehow content in each others company. often there is a mist in the air. the type that gathers around fields at night. after a while it reacts with your own warmer breath and causes a gossamer film of wet on the face and hair. the floodlighting at night always gives an ethereal quality. and if everyone wore white it would remind you of heaven. or a type of heaven i suppose. the multiple lights destroy solid shadows leaving only penumbra. nowhere to hide in that slightly blue light, everything becomes visible. the grass in the centre, protected by the encircling track becomes a sacred place. a false focal point where nothing actually happens. this is the best time of year, when it is cold and dark but with more chance of rain than snow. nothing beats the smell of earth after rain.
the dogs race in batches of five. the excited yelp of dogs before they go in the trap. most people would find it unappealing. but it is the peak and marks the turning point in the chiaroscuro. on look so many poor lost souls. waiting for something that isnt goin to happen. pinning their hopes on an escaping dog. the high is evanescent. and this is the darker half of the two equal parts. but somehow that redolent earth keeps them coming back round to destroy themselves again. there are no epiphanies here.
once the dogs finish and the electric rabbit is stopped the lead dog will catch it and the others gambol around each other. pepped up on adrenalin. sometimes they fight. most punters leave in some small way victorious, despite heavy losses. the only lagniappe being that they can come back next week and try again.