[ "I really need you to tell me exactly what the hell is goin' on." ]



Raylan wakes in a vacuum.

He lets his eyes adjust to the darkness, and takes silent stock of himself.

He's in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. These sweats aren't his. His head feels like a bag of cotton balls left to dry-rot in Death Valley, and the rest of him is hardly any better.

He has no idea where his boots are, let alone his gun.

He gets up, keeping his movements slow and quiet, but the bed creaks in spite of his efforts.

A few long minutes later, he limps out of the bedroom, and shuffles toward the unmistakable smell of coffee.

[ "you brought me breakfast." ]

After a morning spent wandering the International Museum of the Horse, Raylan has soaked in more than he ever forgot about the history and role of the horse in modern civilization.

He can also rattle off the last dozen Derby winners in chronological and alphabetical orders now -- something he cheerfully subjects Reese to during the drive to Keeneland.

It's all gently rolling meadows, green grass, and picturesque white fences as they near the track; once Raylan pulls into the entrance and joins the long line of vehicles inching toward the designated parking lots, he fights the urge to (mis)use his badge to cut to the front.

Patience wins out, and fifteen minutes later, they're strolling through the main gate. The paddock is a smorgasbord of old money, new money, and laughing college students. Amid the riot of summery dresses, skinny jeans, seersucker, three-piece suits, and every fashion statement in between, Raylan directs Dani's attention to a pocket of grooms, owners, trainers and jockeys. A moment later, a bay trots out on a lead, sporting a cardinal-red blanket emblazoned with the number 11 in white stitching.

"Think that one looks like a champion?"

[ "it's not like a change of scenery would hurt." ]

"And that's the only skyscraper -- and I use that term loosely -- you'll see while you're here," Raylan says, pointing out Fifth Third Bank, its black glass and blue detail standing out like a nun in a strip club against the empty skyline.

The city built out, not up; Lexington sprawls to every border of Fayette County, and Fayette County is Lexington.

"It's really just a big town that thinks it's a city," he adds, and points toward the corner of Limestone and Barr, where his office is, before they hang a left off Main to double back toward Ramsey's Diner.