things I’ll never be, part I
I’ll never be a boxer, mainly due to the Vaseline-on-face and Q-tips-up-nose trainer pep talks between rounds. I wince at the thought, and watch through squinted eyes whenever I hear the choppy Spanish translation after the bell. But I’d rather watch that than ultimate fighting any day. There’s just something too weirdly intimate about it. Fetishistic. Exposed. I think it’s the lack of shoes.
