It was the day of the city marathon. The winner crossed the line after a little more than two hours, and then the crowds went home. Workers began to stack the barriers. But at seven in the evening, Hana, who was over sixty, was still running. She ran for her late husband, who always said, "Finish, whatever the time."
An old worker refused to take down the finish tape. Cleaners, medics and a few other people stood along the last hundred meters and held up their phone lights. Hana crossed the line in the dark. About twenty people clapped. "Thank you for waiting," she said.