he was out with his basketball, like he was every day, stereotypical orange with rubbery black stripes, bouncing between pasty, knobby knees, bouncing off the backboard, bouncing up and being snatched back down by scrawny, scratchy boy-arms.
even from 50 feet away, you could hear the constant commentary in high pitched whispers, jubilant echoes after the swishing net, a running critique and mentions of an imaginary (and apparently, unwitting) defensive team.
the clock's running out! reverberated through the apartment complex. 3! his bony fingers clutched the ball. 2! he cleverly evaded defense, yet again. 1! he lost balance as he shot.
the ball barely scraped the bottom of the net, falling short, and rolling safely in the grass beyond the court.
he sat for a moment, perhaps contemplating the last few agonizing moments.
suddenly, he threw his arms in the air victoriously. Nothin' but net!
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