God's car alarm is going off, or so it seems. Every few seconds a piercing honk pushes past the eardrums of those in attendance and enters their brain. This is done on purpose so that the men and women on the Baylor University track team have a better sense of their pacing.
It's only April, but already the steamy air hints of the long, hot summer and the big, nasty mosquitoes ahead. A Union Pacific freight train rumbles and clanks along the adjacent railroad tracks--a tortoise to the hares inside Baylor Track Stadium, located in the deceptively named Beverly Hills area...
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