found drama

A little pick-up game of two-on-two basketball.  It’s me and a woman co-worker versus two of the adult contestants from the “What Do Kids Know?” game from Magnolia.  (There are some remarks and gestures that make me think that our opponents think that she and I are together but there’s nothing lusty or unchaste about it.  It’s just a pick-up game.)  It’s a pretty basic blacktop court; the kind you’d find outside of just about any public school.  (There’s even a playground off to one side.)  Our opponents are sending a lot of trash talk my way.  Mostly I’m just serving as a pick for my teammate.  They keep directing comments at me though because I haven’t done much passing or shooting.  When I do, they see why.  Gravity (for me and me alone) is all wrong.  The ball hangs too long in the air and doesn’t bounce with much force when I dribble it; my shots sail too high and too slowly.  We have to wrap up the game on account of rain but it works out fine, I’m off to the dentist anyway.  But he drugs me as soon as I get to the lobby; two pills shoved down my throat and an injection.  So drowsy, so sluggish.  Gravity making even less sense now than on the court.  Above becomes below and the hygienist leans me way back into the chair and I fall right through it.

About Rob Friesel