* * * * *
Chris is playing basketball now. He could hardly contain his excitement, carrying his new shoes home. He brought us back a way that passed by the court where we saw a dozen or so boys shooting around, lacing up, and then he was in such a state of delirious anticipation that he didn't hear anything I said after that.
There is a feeling of decadence in giving yourself up to sleep during jet lag. You know you shouldn't, but your body so craves it, and, with a sigh of delicious weakness, you swoon onto the bed and welcome oblivion.
* * * * *
It's raining now, so hard I can imagine the streets flooding. Chris is out there somewhere still, his dinner forgotten. He won't like coming home in this. The rain becomes more intense with each thunderclap, and now it's an angry roar.
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