The girl in the pink Lacoste yesterday had no idea what she was doing. Tape a racket to a birds wings and it would probably do better than that sad excuse of a throw she sent my way. But I feel bad for her. I have her number here and I’ve been avoiding calling her for those tips she asked for. I’m so swamped in work but I just want to get back out on that court, so I guess I’ll ask if Tuesday she can make it for another round. I think I’ll start her out on the walls though, because she needs to build that stamina. I’ll make her better, good, good enough, but not good enough to beat me of course. People often underplay racketball, fronttennis, squash, but those motherfuckers really know how to keep up with the ball, eh? Sometimes when you’re playing tennis it just feels like you’re waiting, waiting to lunge, waiting to show off, just SOMETHING… And there’s such a chance for lack of control. Sometimes I throw and it’s too much wind, sometimes not enough, so I guess having her practice on the walls is the perfect excuse for me to get back up to par with where I need to be.   Here in the U.S. they are not so much hardassess, and part of me likes that but part of me is still resentful of it. When is too much enough? Where I’m from, it is never enough. Ha, I think my colleagues have picked up on that, I’m just waiting for a push from their direction to get better.

First and foremost though, I have to order a new pair of shoes when I can, because these are so beaten up I can’t even distinguish the little marks on the side. When I go out there I want these people to know that I am better than them, and what is the perfect way of intimidation but with a nice pair of new shoes? I saw the perfect cream colored hat the other day to match with them, so from head to toe, I am what the girl in the pink Lacoste will think about when she closes her eyes and dreams of tennis. Besides, a premeditated act of fashion is always ideal for a spur of the moment photo with a new trophy. Hopefully she is not linked to anybody though. The feeling of being watched it growing. I checked my bike the other day to see if anything was attached. I’m not sure if I’m just paranoid or if something real is happening. Every night I feel eyes, up and down. My apartment doesn’t feel empty like it should. I have to find a good place to hide this. I don’t even think I wanna keep writing anymore, I think I’ll just end it here, before that feeling starts to take hold of me again.