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Tennis in the City

The city of back alleys, and dodgy entrances, of squatters and plywood covered windows, of holes in the walls and wailing women at night. All the police are gone, all the crime is gone, and what's not gone is settled with fisty cuffs. We're all kind of like rats. Except for me, I've got brand new tennis shoes. Hiya! I'll pretend the ball is your face. Faces have too much air resistance. I'd rather fly a face like a kite. Your head, though, could be shrunken down and used as a ball.

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