We sped toward the city in the dark and I nestled my camera on my lap as the taxi driver waxed enthusiastically about winning two thousand on the horses today, further proof that today was his lucky day. My waving him down on the side of the nearby main road was also proof of his lucky day, since he'd just dropped someone off and was hoping to head back to the city. But horses. He was keen. He studied the form guides, watched the international races now and then (but didn't do so well on the Japanese horse that won last year's Melbourne Cup) but seemed to be forming the opinion based on today's experience that a slightly crazy bet now and then was almost a surer way to win (if you were going to win at all, that day).
He told me a story about taking some friends to the races, years ago, along with a visiting Polish family member who couldn't speak much English, but pointed at a horse called "Lulu" on the sheet, so they put a few bucks down for her. It came in at 25:1. Blind luck, he said, shaking his head. When I got out, I wished him luck. Well, further luck.