With an uncanny lurch of familiarity, he recognizes it: the strain to the smile, the brittle quality of the laugh. Who in his life sounds like that? He could swear he's heard it a hundred times, a thousand, a million.
Doesn't matter. He drains the beer, sets it down with a loud clack, and steps up for his second round.
For just a moment, he gets it.
He'd been doing this all wrong. Like holding tension in the wrong place, like forgetting some crucial rhythm, but he can't articulate how or where. He doesn't even throw up a hand as counterbalance; he doesn't even laugh or shout. There's a startled, intent concentration on his face, and for a moment John moves with a perfectly uncanny grace. It's as though he's the center of the room, and the rocking chaos of the bull can't really touch him.
Then he tries to think about what he's doing, and it dumps him on his ass.
"Okay," he says from the floor, no less elegantly than the first time. He did, against all odds, last longer. "Points for effort, right?"
we're keeping the 10
Doesn't matter. He drains the beer, sets it down with a loud clack, and steps up for his second round.
For just a moment, he gets it.
He'd been doing this all wrong. Like holding tension in the wrong place, like forgetting some crucial rhythm, but he can't articulate how or where. He doesn't even throw up a hand as counterbalance; he doesn't even laugh or shout. There's a startled, intent concentration on his face, and for a moment John moves with a perfectly uncanny grace. It's as though he's the center of the room, and the rocking chaos of the bull can't really touch him.
Then he tries to think about what he's doing, and it dumps him on his ass.
"Okay," he says from the floor, no less elegantly than the first time. He did, against all odds, last longer. "Points for effort, right?"