A young man fainted having lost his sense of gullalable. Would it be in the trophy room, should he open the door? Blinded by the presence of his own two hands he was a mascot completely incapable of being a fan.
Meat hook and gold star, the rhythm of his sleep was unconscious for only a brief introduction. Illuminated eyes followed as the canopy sway high above the basketball net like two jugs of pineapple juice. Minds racing and hands clapping if it wasn’t for the light show he might have fallen into the basket.
Hand over hand the noise of the crowd seemed to dissipate and when asked of his location the man simply said “I am alive and I believe I am fine”. The deep purplish blue echoed the glossy effort towards speciation. Rich yellows cautioned the arrival of talent while the real rowdy fans climbed on top of each other’s shoulders. One boy shouted “I did it” leaving nothing behind like an arm wrestler’s determination towards a witness.
His foot happened to be in my mouth and they departed just in time and free from danger. Through the after taste, I could hear dinner called out loud but these things I just had to ignore.
The school yard boys were generally pleasant and gave him the nickname air jordan but it had nothing to do with the brand of sneakers that were in my mouth. Hey mister what are you doing up there?
Sail less and without a score board, the young man’s canopy looked more like a pair of testicles then a beach front hammock. And some missing tourist might have noticed that their weren’t enough street signs for the occasion. So the boys and I hang here suspended in the shadow of canopy like mass murderers questioning the quality of fruit at a San Francisco farmers market.
I don’t know how many people we thought we could fit on that canopy but with each person behind each figured there was room. Luckily for us just beneath the net was a man hole cover and with a few number two pencils we circled ourselfs in order to remove that cover, there seemed to be no pattern.
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