Soon after Dick and Jane moved to Columbia Heights, they’d hear thumping in the distance.
As the weather warmed and they opened their windows, voices and shouts were added to the soundtrack.
Down toward 13th NW, a backboard had been installed on the parking lot of a storefront mosque.
Dick would stand back and watch the pickup games, not aware his limbs were twitching along with the moves under the boards.
After some weeks, one of the brothers walked over.
“You play?”
“NCCAA for a year.”
“NCCAA?” the guy asked.
“Christian conference.”
“For sure! So put your hat on the bench to get in the lineup. We do ‘make-it, take-it’ to 12. Turns over fast.
”We got us some jag-offs who go Bobby Knight when they‘re wasted, so we kick their asses off the court for the night.”
“Played with my share.” Dick said.
He didn’t mention he’d been suspended from the NCCAA for unsportsmanlike behavior.
He’d have to watch himself. He didn’t want to fuck up the only good thing that’s happened in months.
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