Robert sat in wet grass; his pants were soaked. Above, lights flickered and buzzed. Empty bleachers faced each other—too close. Once, they held a game. He took a drink from his flask. Robert looked up at the half moon, then at its reflection in his flask.
A distant hand extinguished the lights. Robert heard angular voices in the fading hum. He kept waiting and took another drink. His eyes adjusted; the moon was enough. Echoes came from the goal posts.
Green mist settled on the field. A pervasive, metallic smell—acrid.
Two men stepped into the center circle, hollow and green. Green but black. A referee walked in and set a ball down on the spot, then stepped away. The field filled with figures.
The referee blew his whistle. There was no sound. Robert was elated.
