Here’s the third (and final?) chapter to my series over at the Nudge Wink Report. I work my fingers to the bone coming up with mediocre fiction for that site! Seriously, you should see my fingers – they’re boney as hell right now. Everything I eat goes to my expanding waistline, and bypasses my fingers.
The Bowl-A-Drome lies on the fringes of the old meat packing district, not far from the Chiselers’ home arena. The giant red pin getting knocked over by the big blue ball on the sign lit up years worth of broken bottles in the parking lot. Part of the neon tubing was out, so every time it got hit, the pin changed for a moment into some sort of foreign calligraphy.
I stepped inside and the smells of waxed hardwood, stale beer and rented shoes hit my nose like a fifteen pound house ball with no spin on it.
It was league night. The usual assortment of embroidered synthetics were well represented. Some teams looked like slobs with matching shirts while others were just a few sequins away from being dressed to…
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