At the races in Saratoga— a surreal spring — during the biggest race a sudden sunshower caused the crowd, drunk and giddy in their pastel raceday clothes to huddle together as they sang “New York, New York” then, as the race ended a rainbow appeared—

They sang the national anthem. Fighter jets flew by blotting out all other sounds.

I often feel like the character in my story: a human alien on a planet of ants.

In the story the racetrack is a möbius strip, the jets are fearsome beetles.