Jimmy didn’t always have useless legs. There had been a time, far back in the distance, when the young Jimmy would leap in the air with the graceful strength of a ballerina; would stretch and contort his form into numerous fantastical shapes, seemingly beyond the realms of physical possibility; would be as ready and prepared as the coiled spring of a clown-faced jack-in-a-box to shoot off in any which way he felt necessary. There had been a time when Jimmy Tennis was a Champion. The chalk limits were his home, his stage, his dominion. For the time it took a small illuminous ball to bounce once and begin its second decent no distance within those thin white lines was out of reach.
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