The bus leaves me at the courts. I need to sit next to a pond and stare at the surface, counting slowly as I breathe in and out. If I could find the secret to serenity, I would become a rich man. Of course, that's why I have xanax, but we aspire to natural solutions although we have no qualms about turning to the quick fixes supplied by science. We are the drug generation. I'm sure as we get older and face one malady after another, we'll have a greater appreciation for its magic. "Hey, cabrón," says Estanislao. "Are you streetwalking?" "I'm just spacing out. As you well know, there is no rest for the wicked." "We're condemned prisoners awaiting execution. They have reserved our rooms in hell. Just as long as there is a tennis court." "And what were our fathers doing when they were our age?" "They were working stiffs." "They weren't chasing women and smoking dope, let alone playing tennis." "Did Marisol have any clothes on?" "What do you mean by that?" "Did they rape her? I'm sure they raped her. Wouldn't you rape a woman before you killed her?" "What kind of question is that?" "I know what you would do. Did she have any clothes on or not?" "She was in an advanced state of decomposition. It wasn't a pretty sight." "So you don't think the morticians will be fucking her behind closed doors. I saw her picture in the Herald and she was a babe." "What the fuck are you smoking?" ""What do you think? Do you think morticians are getting some dead pieces of ass? A cadaver would make the perfect girlfriend." "You'll like this tidbit: A husband receives a call that his wife whom he adores has been transported to the hospital after a serious accident. He rushes to the emergency room where the doctor informs him his wife has died. He has the doctor lead him to her. The nurses have washed her and she is lying on a gurney under a sheet. He pulls back the sheet and she looks like she is sleeping. He thinks of all the times he would look at her as she slept and then climb on top of her and make love to her. Even though she loved sleeping, she loved making love more. He touches her and her body is warm. He asks the doctor to allow him some privacy. When he is alone with her, he pulls off the sheet and has sex with her." "Touching stuff. Next thing you'll be digging up graves and jumping into coffins with skeletons." "I don't know why I waste my literary talents on a pendejo like you." "Are you ready?" "I think so." "No physical excuses?" "I believe I have a doctor's clearance." "No imminent threats of a heart attack or a stroke? You're always at death's door." "I'm ready although I can feel the cancer spreading. It shouldn't have an affect on today's game. If I'm not mistaken, I have a three-game winning streak." "And if I'm not mistaken, I had a five-game winning streak prior to your lucky run." Estanislao and I take the court and whack the ball back and forth. I can't concentrate. I am consumed by hate. I am going to gain my revenge by writing stories about you, bitch. I am entitling them: Tales of Penelope and her Puta Pussy. I will retell all your anecdotes as you told me verbatim. You can't give hope to the hopeless, bitch. That is an unpardonable sin. You can't tell a terminally ill patient that he is going to live and then tell him it was a mistaken diagnosis. Are you happy that you've destroyed everything? "Three games to none," says Estanislao. "Are you going to start playing or would you rather sit in the sauna and dissolve into a puddle of sweat?" "It's three to zero? I'm spaced out and I haven't puffed on a joint. Let's start over." "I'm not giving back three games." "I thought you wanted to win fair and square?" "I am winning fair and square." "No, you aren't. I thought we were warming up. I didn't know that we had started." "Cut the bullshit. I'm kicking your ass and you want to use the excuse that you thought we were warming up. Fuck off! My serve. Three-love. Here comes."
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