I dried what was to be the last tear I would shed on the sleeve of my disheveled, black uniform. From the back of the vacant Grey Hound I found myself lacking the strength to do anything but stare into the cold, hard carpet beneath the cuspidate blades of my spikes. The grim fluorescent lights cast a shadow below me, and the afternoon sun– the bleeding, radiant afternoon sun, dried blood and sweat to my numb hands. I raised my eyes. Under the putrid bill of my baseball cap and through the tinted windows I watched my teammates embrace their parents in defeat. Through the tinted windows I envisioned an afternoon that hadn’t ended in defeat, and through the tinted windows I watched a dream take its last ragged, desperate breath in defeat. I brought my eyes back down to the carpet.
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