He assumed a grand position, arching his arm and gripping the ball firmly. He had that kind of look in his face that accompanied his posture and build fittingly. Then, with reflexes almost too fast for a human eye to detect, he hurled the ball so quickly and smoothly that you would be tempted to doubt whether or not the ball was really there in the first place. A girl who was walking by nonchalantly grinned and called out, "Football, huh? Why does everyone like that sport so much?"

The masculine athlete looked back at the girl, bewildered at her sudden interjection. "Well... I like to... tackle people and beat every stupid team I play!"

She stared at him, expecting some sort of grin or chuckle that might substitute as a 'just kidding,' but much to her disappointment, he looked as serious and unintelligent as almost every other jock looked. He was probably into football for popularity or a chance to impress some girls. Interrupting her brief interlude of thought, the boy caught an incoming ball and in a similar motion, launched it back again. She projected an ersatz smile and squealed, "Ha! That's looks easy."

The boy scowled and sternly looked back at her. In a very deep, almost ostentatious voice, he responded, "Well, it's harder than it looks."

The girl stood there for a few moments, shrugged, and walked away, leaving the football player in annoyance at her insolence. She sighed heavily as she plodded along, silently thinking to herself. As reality began to intervene with her serene cognition, she noticed a man who was running in an opposite direction. He was probably getting some exercise or something; he was doused in sweat and looked like he was breathing heavily. It was a peculiar sight though; he had lightly tanned skin and an almost grim expression. You couldn't see it openly, but you could tell that he was desperately trying not to inhale too much and you could see some faint convulsions spontaneously erupting in his body. Despite it, he had a very uninterested face. His eyes were not at all focused, and it seemed like he was also too busy thinking about something else to pay attention to his physical condition. He never bothered to contract his face between his violent breaths. He had deep, hazel eyes that looked somewhat as if they were enchanted, ancient pearls that carried with them tales of a mournful thousand years. He had brown, curly hair that he probably didn't groom often and facial hair that he either highly prided or totally disregarded, the latter most probably so. His most prominent feature however, was the scar that spanned his well-shaped nose, draped over it like a blanket of protection, or perhaps a reminder of an accursed past. He wore a sweatshirt with the letters BBG inscribed into it and wore a pair of black sweatpants. He looked, in figure, like a natural athlete. In expression, he looked more like a tragic character who would've been better protected if entrusted into the hands of death Himself. It seemed as if his hands had been through a lot, as they were totally bandaged up, yet it looked like he still exercised his muscles regularly. His pattern of - Augh! Once again, she'd been drawn so deeply into her thought and observation that the man was just a few yards away from her when her mind at last came to. She leaped out of the way as the man, dilated eyes and all, didn't seem to notice her at all. What a weird guy. "Excuse me, sir," she managed to awkwardly articulate.

He kept running. "Excuse me sir! Can you hear me?"

Suddenly, chills disseminated through her body without her approval or realization. As he turned his face to her, his eyes that had seemed to contain nothing now sparkled magnificently; or maybe it was just her imagination 'filling in the blanks.' He had the kind of stare that could see through the deepest of lies, and almost even the thickest of walls. "Why, hello there, young lady. May I help you?" he asked with a very delicately embedded persona of sophistication.

She cocked an eyebrow and inwardly smiled. Well, whaddya know? Someone who wasn't a weakling yet had any sense at all. That's a rare sight in this world. Suddenly, his face turned an odd color that passed by too quickly to take note of, and the man fell straight to the floor. Supported only by his trembling arms and useless knees, all you could see were paroxysms tracing an outline of his muscles. She shivered in fear. What was wrong? Did she do something? Was he in pain? Should she call an ambulance? Then, with an disgusting sound, he regurgitated some almost clear liquid onto the floor. She cringed in disgust. What happened?? She walked towards the man, feeling that perhaps she was dreaming. "Sir, are you okay?? Do you need any medical help?"

The man looked straight at the girl with eyes that, despite enduring such excruciating experiences, were firm and unrelenting. Yet, they were warm and welcoming; understanding and sensitive. He smiled and said "No thank you. This is only part of the routine. I have to lose weight for my match next week, so it's only for the best."

Match next week? Routine? What did "BBG" stand for? Smiling perhaps only to himself now, he got up and continued to run. As he passed by, she noticed the words on the back of his shirt, "Beiger Boxing Gym." Boxing gym?? Oh, this person was a boxer? She stared in awe at the man, and immediately started to run behind him for reasons she didn't yet know. It was just out of instinct. She tried to open her mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Perhaps she was afraid he wouldn't listen, maybe even scared that he wouldn't appreciate it, but she could still say nothing. She could only stare at this man who had been running for so long as to drown himself in his own sweat, who fell over, threw up, and got back up to run again. It was utterly amazing, despite being so simple. She couldn't say anything at all. Suddenly, the boxer's knees once again hit that familiar cement floor.

She instinctually squealed and rubbed the boxer's back intensely. After half a minute, nothing happened, he just sat there silently and expected everything except for his heart to exhaust itself, as well as brutally explain him so. This man.. this man knew how to betray his body. As he began to get up, stumbling a few times and finding himself unable to gather himself into one coordinated mass, she murmured, "Wow. Boxing. That looks really hard."

These words must have hit some sore spot in this man's memory, for he flinched suddenly and then didn't change in expression. He very smoothly pulled himself to his feet as if he had planned out his movement from before the beginning of time and looked deeper into the eyes of the girl than she knew that she herself had substance and hoarsely said, wearing an expression that she could never forget, "Well, it's easier than it looks."

The girl stared and the man ran off, falling down a few more times before he managed to forever disappear from her sight.