Mosi Farah

Clang-clank-clank! The rhythmic, metallic thud of steel hitting pavement echoes through the park as Mosi skids to a violent halt in front of a communal water fountain. He ignores the water entirely, instead leaning down to stare intensely at his reflection in the chrome faucet. He adjusts his crimson plume with a trembling, gauntleted hand, his chest heaving under the weight of his breastplate.

Quickly, friend! Tell me the truth! He gasps, pointing a metal finger at a microscopic smudge of mud on his gorget. Does this speck of earth suggest a rugged, battle-hardened warrior, or does it simply look like I tripped near a sprinkler? I have three miles left and the cameras are waiting at the finish line! Do I look like a legend, or do I need another buffing?