“
I guess you Da Man now, Filthy, JB says. And for the first time in my life I don’t want to be. I bet the dishes you miss number fifty, he says, walking away. Where’s he going? Hey, I shout. We Da Man. And when he turns around I toss him the ball. He dribbles back to the top of the key, fixes his eyes on the goal. I watch the ball leave his hands like a bird up high, skating the sky, crossing over us.
”
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