He took a long drink.

Tennis worked for me, Joel typed.

can’t, Dylan wrote. they killed it.

The fuck?

to make more money for football.

Fuck.

ya.

Basketball? Baseball?

coach says my numbers are shit.

You mean your grades?

their ok. They’re* lol

Joel smiled at his phone. maybe just scholarships for college then.

not that ok

Oh.

cause football. i can’t ever study.

Why don’t you quit then? You’ve got a year to turn shit around.

hahahahaha that’s funny

What is?

quit football. Joel waited out a long pause. sorry, Dylan finally wrote. i shouldn’t be bothering you.

You’re not bothering me, Joel typed. Dylan talk to me please.

i thought about it a lot really i want to but i can’t quit i can’t

Why not?

Another long pause. u don’t remember what it’s like down here.

Joel left his phone unlocked on the counter. He gathered empty glasses into his sink, tossed out a stuffed ashtray, picked up small baggies that a few hours before had held cocaine and molly and every other palliative he could get his hands on and rolled them into a wet towel to bury in his garbage. He gagged at a sharp whiff of gin uncoiling from somewhere beneath his counter. He did remember what it was like in Bentley, Texas. Or, rather, there was plenty he had made himself forget.

Joel had made a name for himself upon arriving in New York with an economics degree from a nowhere school and a plaque from his tennis scholarship and a smile on his face. He had established himself as an analyst with an itch, an instinct, the ability to look at a pile of data and spot flaws, opportunities, dangerously optimistic projections. That itch had served him very, very well. Just look at this custom kitchen, at the Italian sofa in the living room from a designer whose name brought a pause to even the most jaded of the Hamptons set.

And what was Joel’s itch telling him now?

This is serious.

There’s something wrong with that town.

This is your brother.

i can’t quit football. i just fucking can’t but i can’t keep playing neither if i don’t play i don’t got no college cause who’s gonna pay for it? mom? and if i don’t got no college i’m fucking stuck here and if i stay here i’ll go crazy bro—i can’t sleep i can’t eat i can’t go to the bright lands it’s not the same no more i can’t with this fucking place

Can’t go to the what?

i hate it here. it’s like i hear this town talking when i sleep.

Joel looked at his absurd apartment, at the well-appointed wreckage of his late twenties, and told himself he wasn’t afraid. He googled How much does college cost today and priced plane tickets and pretended he wasn’t scared out of his mind at the thought of what he was about to do.

u there? yo joel u there?