The air is thick and humid. You can see the haze as the street lights turn on. A car passes by momentarily, spitting out loud beats and pollution. It only adds to the smog surrounding the city. No matter, he thinks. Global warming isn’t on his mind right now.
The owner of the corner store drives away some kids loitering in front of his business. He screams in a mixture of Chinese and English, which confuses the kids enough to move them along. Whatever, he says to himself. He’s not getting driven away. He has to focus.
An ambulance turns on its sirens suddenly. His eyes avert their gaze for only a second. He wonders what happened, if someone got shot, or maimed, or fell and broke a bone. He worries about his grandmother, alone at home, watching television. Could she have gotten hurt? His concern turns to apathy as he realizes that it’s not his problem.
He eyes down his opponent. He lowers his head and squares his shoulders. He works himself up into a frenzy. His enemy, the pitcher, launches one faster than light. He swings. Hard. The ball ignores physics and launches into orbit. It shatters through poor Mrs. Johnson’s window. They all scatter.
Originally printed in the La Salle Collegian on September 27, 2006. Written by Cory Anotado.