
Next to my beside table, a dozen fresh red rosesâ€"broken at the base of the stems. Thinking of you. Love, the guys. Beneath that is the name of every loan shark on the seaboard and the card of a local apothecary.
Just when you start to think no-one cares.
My trousers are only half-on when my hand, operating on its own sound judgment and muscle memory, finds a bottleneck. But my brain cell is still in charge–and it votes to leave the liquor be and go up there to face this incredibly unfortunate day sober. After all, my team is counting on me. I haven’t been able to fix that yet.
It’s a long climb up the stairs to the locker room, where my team has been having a last-minute pregame clambake. Wide, moist eyes look up from an improvised and building-code-violating ersatz coalpit. Did I have a speech prepared? I did? Well, screw that. This was not a morning for last night’s speeches. If I was going to face this sober, so were they.
Continue reading 〉〉 “Half Time CH8: Elf Esteem”
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