“Fine,” he mumbled. I followed him down carpeted stairs to a huge basement bedroom.
A shelf at my eye level reached all the way around the room, and it was stuffed solid with basketball memorabilia:
dozens of trophies with gold plastic men mid–jump shot or dribbling or reaching for a layup toward an unseen basket.
There were also lots of signed balls and sneakers. “I used to play basketball,” he explained.
“You must’ve been pretty good.” “I wasn’t bad, but all the shoes and balls are Cancer Perks.”
He walked toward the TV, where a huge pile of DVDs and video games were arranged into a vague pyramid shape.
He bent at the waist and snatched up V for Vendetta. “I was, like, the prototypical white Hoosier kid,” he said.
“I was all about resurrecting the lost art of the midrange jumper, but then one day I was shooting free throws—
just standing at the foul line at the North Central gym shooting from a rack of balls.
All at once, I couldn’t figure out why I was methodically tossing a spherical object through a toroidal object.
It seemed like the stupidest thing I could possibly be doing.
I started thinking about little kids putting a cylindrical peg through a circular hole,
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색