The green felt ball swooshing past me out of bounds struck with a thunderous roar much too loud for such a small item. The shrilling alert from Dane's whistle confirmed that it was not the ball that had made such a noise but the explosion of tiny water molecules after a lightning strike. Class was canceled 40 minutes early as it started to pour down from the heavens, the sun blocked by dark ominous clouds. I had planed on driving through a fast food restaurant before driving back to campus to attend my third class of the day. However, this much needed storm gave me 90 minutes as opposed to the original 50 I have so I changed my plans. My flatmate, who's also my tennis partner, decided we should go to T.G.I. Fridays and have a sit down meal.
On arrival we run from the car through the rain already soaked, each drop pelting our skin mixing with our sweat from the games we had come from. The air inside was colder than preferred with the water evaporating on my skin enticing goose bumps to rise on the bare skin of my arms and legs. The floor had that sticky waxed feel to it as we walked to the table assigned to us, the same we had sat in the week before. The blood red booth made of faux leather stuck to me uncomfortably like I was attached the sticky side of a huge sticker. Our waitress was gorgeous dark skin that appeared flawless, loose curls that framed her face and rested on her shoulders, the dichromatic uniform providing a pleasant contrast. . . to be continued?
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