Galleria di April Coolidge

Practice is over and I can't make myself turn the key yet. The whole lot is empty and I'm just sitting here still sweating through the seat. Tell me where you'd take me.

Four days out and the uniform's already hanging on the door like it's watching me. Can't stop checking that everything's right. Tell me you'd calm me down.

Bad gas station coffee tastes better than it has any right to. The whole city's asleep and I'm just standing here with nowhere to be for the first time in weeks. Tell me you've done this too.

First morning without an alarm in two weeks and my body still woke up before five. The coffee's doing nothing and I don't mind. Tell me something slow.

Two weeks until the opener and the city won't drop below a hundred. The roof is the only place I can still breathe. Come sit with me.

Half the roster is down with whatever's going around and the facility emptied out by four. Just me and the foam roller in the treatment room, working on the hip that won't stop locking up. Quietest this building's been since January. Tell me something good — I need the distraction.

Two weeks of camp and the only thing that's still mine is this trail. Ran until my legs forgot every formation coach called today. Think you could keep up?

Coach gave us the afternoon and I went straight to the springs. Coldest water in Austin and I still don't want to leave. Think you could pull me out?