’ As Texas Joe returned, Dober pawed the dirt behind the mound with his spikes. A twinge sizzled through his body from his right shoulder to his spi...e and down his legs. He fought an urge to rub it, dared not share a sign of weakness at this point of the game. He remembered a line from the Dan Quisenberry poem ‘Time to Quit.’. Dan was a major league pitcher who wrote about his last year: ‘a doberman gnaws my shoulder/with each toss’. Chuckling, he thought about how ironic it was: he got his. Even as thought it hot as hell out side why the fire place. I was thankful because of the air conditioned draft coming from the vents. He popped back in with some finger food and had a seat next to me. I don't know why this man did it. Or even why I didn't notice that I needed it. But he turned me to him, and began massaging my aching shoulders. The tension just eased its way out of my body. As I laid back against this man. He picked me up and carried me off to the bed. We made out in a woman. More

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