In gym, during free play, I played hockey by myself, taking slap shots at an empty goal.
I knew no one at that school and was absolutely alone.
One of my shots, a bullet, struck the crossbar.
A gym teacher saw this and told me to stop. He called me the name of one of the Flyers, I think Bobby Clarke.
“No slap shots, Clarkie.”
He took that away from me.
A man signs a shovel and so he digs.
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