On Your Mark (excerpt)
Malcolm was happier than a horned toad at a mayfly festival.
And when his English springer spaniel was happy, Jim was happy.
It was one of those impossibly clear days that Washington, DC dished out like dog treats in February. The hard winter nights were probably behind them. In another month, even the occasional below freezing nights would be nothing but a memory. Now it was an hour past sunrise, the temperature was already above forty, and the maples and beeches along the White House fence line looked as if the tips of their branches had been dusted with just the tiniest bit of bright green. The ornamental cherry trees were already dusted pink.
The air smelled fresh and vibrant with possibility. He loved the way that every city had its own smell and he’d now be
