A dog's life

My girlfriend and I carried the boxes up the stairs. Finally, she was moving in! On her last run from the car to my apartment I heard numerous footsteps click-clacking in the hallway. Whether her dogs could stay too? Not a problem. I was going to spend most of my time at work anyway. And they looked cute enough.

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Ice cream girl

The girl rolled her eyes when she saw me hesitate. Overwhelmed by all the options in front of me - Smurf blue, deep purple, poison green - I needed some time to make a choice. She was visibly annoyed when I asked her about some flavor I had never seen before, and looked at her watch in objection. Sure, there was a line, but ice cream girl seemed livid that her customer took longer than she thought necessary. I apologized, walked out, and reluctantly consumed the so-manieth chocolate ice cream I had in my life.    

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Breakfast with the world champion

I was having breakfast in some hotel somewhere in the world -I can’t remember where; after so many years every tournament felt the same- while the 4-times world champion joined me at the table. The guy was ecstatic. ‘I’ve done it, LJ! Twice! In one week!’ he cried out. ‘Can you believe it!?’

 

I walked up to the buffet and wondered what Amr Shabana could possibly be so happy about. Had he won two World Series events in one week? Impossible, time-wise. Had he earned two business class upgrades in the last 7 days? The man probably flew business anyway. Had he gotten two good draws recently? Irrelevant. Any draw was ‘good’ to him. 

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Athlete in a coffee shop

It must have been early November when I was an injured athlete awaiting surgery. The surgeon had told me his earliest availability to operate on me was a few weeks from then. It was a long time to wait. Those weeks would mean the difference between making the national championships, or missing out. A shot at one more title, or not. I felt I had no choice. The guy was the best doctor in the world for the surgery I needed and I wasn’t going to settle for someone lesser skilled hacking away in my ankle joint.

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Life after squash

I look around and see that nobody is watching. When everybody’s staring at their computer screen I sneak down the stairs of the grey office building. I’ve hidden my trainers in a washroom in the basement that holds a shower and a few lockers. Nobody uses this facility. I quickly put on my gear and run up the stairs. I need to reach the revolving door. Preferably without being seen.

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