“Don’t you know that a hard dick and an empty wallet don’t match?” is something I’m telling myself these days, it makes me chuckle and then I feel better.
It’s been a week that I’ve been working on my jump shot a hour a day. I mean a week going to a playground and work those dead shoulders of mine, locked in front of a computer or locked by playing bass.
It appears that throwing your hands in the air like you care to put that ball in is good for you.
I feel fifteen again, only with mad experience. Everything is open, adventure time. I’m 35 and grabbing that rim, still (I’m 1,74/5’9 shut up), I still can swish from downtown on a jumper. Fear of injury is making us weak like motherfuckers but our bodies are not dead at all once we pass the triple decade, who knew?? Everyone? All right smarty pants.