Airball Overruled

Sharpening graphite weapons inside got stale, so I hitched a ride outdoors in an open gym tote straight to Summerville’s blacktop courts. Rolled against the chain-link fence sat an abandoned, flattened yellow tennis ball, daring me to dispute its court privileges. I didn't hold back. Charging across the painted asphalt line, I planted my left white boot into the gritty court and unleashed a ferocious sliding side tackle. My right shin struck the faded felt, launching the limp yellow orb ricocheting violently through a square gap in the wire fence onto the grass. The perimeter stands cleared.