Laps

The racers are grouped together thickly, the dust churned up from the track thick and staining the hot air brown. The wheels make a faint rustling sound as they spin; muffled by the thunder of many hooves.  There are the cracks of the whips, and then one singular one that deafens the rest and a chariot in the rear is upended, spins in the air, and crashes.  The voice of the crowd surges, they all rise up at once; and then sit again.  The race goes on.