Robert sat in the wet grass; his pants soaked up the rain. Above, lights flickered and buzzed. Empty bleachers faced each other — too close. Once, they held a game. He took a drink and looked up at the half moon. At its reflection in his flask.
A distant hand extinguished the lights. Robert heard angular voices in the fading hum. He kept waiting, taking another drink. His eyes adjusted; the moon was enough. Echoes came from the goal posts.
Green mist settled onto the field — an engulfing, 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 populated with figures.
The referee blew his whistle. There was no sound. Robert was elated.
