He ran with his gaze on the skyline, having an obscure idea that the day would last longer if he reached it before the light completely faded.
The wind rose. Great gusts shoved at his back making it easier to run than to walk. This race with the wind toward a fading dawn was the finest thing he had done since coming to that city.
When the sky had grown altogether lack he stopped, rested up a close mouth to recover his breath, then trudged back to the tramstop at the cross.