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  • "My wife's had 3 c's, so we can't have anymore kids."
    "Mine's had 4"
    "No kidding?! I thought they stopped you after 3."
    "Yeah, seriously. This is after 2 epidurals, too."
    "Phew. See, after 3, my wife said no more, just balls on the table. I said, sure, that's fine, just let me rest on the couch watching Nascar and Football - there was some kinda cross-season overlap."

    We play a few more points, disc tossed up, 3 on 3 in the middle of the day. We're all "working stiffs", though I'm much less stiff than my teammates.

    The disc is pulled up, flies way out the back on this short, narrow field. Goes over a fence. Chris, a tall guy in a gray sweat shirt, begins to hop the fence. He's halfway over, slowly easing his weight onto the chainlinks, groin first.

    "That's what I call a post-vasectomy!"

    I'm reflecting a lot. On where I have been and where I am really going. Felicity (her name has been changed), a beautiful, lively woman who came into my life and left just as quickly asked me how I am doing. I have recently started a new job in a new city.

    I say "I'm lonely."

    Those two words sit on their own line in a Facebook chat. She's in Italy, so we have different time zones to contend with. It's like modern day letter writing - the letters get there fast, but real time responses don't happen.

    I remember the last time we were in the same place - I flew up to New York to see her, in her flat close to the Flat Iron Building. She told me that night about the time she had been raped. Minutes later, she asked to have sex.

    Distraught, confused, I declined.

    Balls on the table.
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