It seemed like as good a way to pass the time as any, burn off lunch, maybe meet some friends. But six weeks in and it’s taken over: you dribble in your sleep, stretch out your calves during coffee break. While walking the dog you find yourself stopped on the sidewalk, transfixed by the NBA scores flickering out in the dawn light, from the flat screens of the electronics store front window. You never knew you were a team player, no matter how much you put it on your resumé. Someone asks you an important question and you blank: basketball?
hips swivel like a hook, a cheap torso trick. hit the world stage with your neon lies and nab the next man, his eyes squished from the light and looking elsewhere.