I toe-hook around the under-cling, moving slow to avoid barn-dooring off the problem. The next move is a dyno onto a greasy looking sloper. I look down at the gym floor below. I want to secure the send on this project, but if I screw up here, I’m in for a big whipper.
I lean on the backspace key, deleting the entire paragraph. “Ridiculous,” I mutter to m…
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