HOÀN THÀNH
The Finish Line of Years Gone By
At five twenty minutes in the morning, the slope leading from Ben Ca hamlet to the main road was still wet with dew, and Nhat Son Lake had run its fourth lap. He didn't wear headphones - the family didn't have money to buy them - only the sound of his own breathing was as steady as a machine, two breaths in and three breaths out, just like Mr. Khuong taught. The canvas shoes were discolored at the heels because of too much wear, and the toes of the shoes were still taped with a piece of black tape to keep the soles from peeling off completely. Son did not look down at his feet. He looked straight towards the street light pole at the end of the slope, where he had beaten himself...
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