I in the trace of your smile

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Your lemon hair was flopped loosely in a pony tail as I notice you walk off the tennis courts. I zipped up my bag, puffed out the collar of my turquoise polo, and asked if you were finished. You looked surprised and squinted and a trace of a smile crept into your eye — but that’s it — just the eye. You turned to look at the empty court and said ‘Yes, I was just leaving.’ Then a mongrel, pardon me, but an overgrown Sasquatch in a puffed out collar green polo threw his arm around you.

What’s up, man.
Are you finished using the court?
All yours, bro.

You walked off the court and while Sasquatch, pardon me
— but a mongrel, really — walked down the line toying with his feet following the doubles line as if it were a plank, you carelessly walked right over them to the gate to the exit and ultimately into my heart.

I caught the ‘I.’

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