He remembers that last game he ever played. It was his junior year of high school, just before the Christmas break. He scored eighteen points and pulled down nine boards, both team highs that night. He was pissed he hadn't put up twenty and ten. He fouled out with three minutes left to play in the fourth quarter, heard the whistle, turned and headed for the bench. No sense getting upset, he knew this was his finale. Might as well bow out gracefully.

He had already failed three of his five final exams for the semester, he'd be officially ineligible by the time the next game rolled around. He'd play this game, then go home, that was his plan all week. He'd pack up his shit, or at least the shit he couldn't leave behind, for his Moms to trash, and go figure out which one of his boys he could stay with for a while.

He didn't plan on going back to school, what was the point. He also knew he wasn't gonna be allowed to stay in his mother's house if he wasn't taking classes, she wouldn't have that. He was pretty sure that she knew he had started dealing, and if she thought that was all he'd do all day she'd throw a fucking fit and yell him right out of the house and down the driveway.

He watched from the bench as his team lost that last game; by three points, they didn't shoot free throws well at all that night, gotta capitalize from the line if you're gonna win ball games, this 16 for 28 shit isn't gonna cut it boys, the coach said afterwards. He didn't shower that night after coach’s talk, just grabbed his shit, left his uniform on a bench in the locker room, and walked out into the cold ass night air.

He went first to his girlfriend's house, she hadn't been at the game, and he didn't want to talk about it. How many points did he score at least; twenty-four he lied, he didn't know why. He fucked her, 'cause he needed to, laid there in the dark for a while, then did it again, again because he needed to. Then he had to go he told her, he had shit to do tomorrow. He was home by two o'clock.

His Moms was laid out on the couch when he got home, with all the lights on and the TV too. She looked asleep, but her cigarette was still lit, hanging from her lip, and she'd inhale occasionally. She didn't open her eyes as he walked past her, but she did blow smoke in his direction. "We lost" he mentioned on his way by. No response, and into his bedroom he trudged.

He shuts the door, opens a drawer or two, throws the contents onto the bed, gets a bag from the closet, not quite a suitcase but a good sized bag, puts the shit on the bed into it. He hasn't packed clothes yet, so he gets a trash bag from the kitchen, under the sink, and throws some clothes into it. He ties the top of the bag into a knot, throws it out the window into the yard, grabs the other bag and heads out the front door. His Moms has gone to bed. It's 4am, and it’s fucking cold outside.