The sun is setting on the empire known as Rosecroft Raceway.

In the 80s, the now-empty building would fill with hundreds of spectators soaked in a constant fog of cigarette smoke. Today, spectators are few and far between, but the family who built this racetrack on their farm in the 1940s is rushing to bring in new attendees before their current audience ages away.

For better or for worse, the horse betting industry as a whole is dying. Rosecroft races twice a week, and each race night, 104 horses fill the paddock stalls, are dressed in blinders, and are fitted with a cart to pull their driver in.

Danny, who was born on the property and has spent his whole life calling Rosecroft home, is working to keep the only life he knows. He attends to the needs of the property from sunrise until well after sunset every day, and if you ask any attendee, driver, snack box employee, or security guard, they know Danny.

As the raceway loses the last of its light, the endurance of the community shows they still have hope to maintain the profound legacy established over decades.