Red leather gloves hit the canvas, air rushes out of his lungs and his gloves. The canvas bag swings back and forth, he dances on the balls of his feet; moving this way and that left hand jabs out quickly comes back guarding his face. He looks at the mirrored wall and adjusts his stance, his leg lifts-impacts the bag before the eye can see.

“No, No,” comes a deep voice “what are you doing, you know better than that. Hit it with some force, why do I waste my time with you?” the family resemblance is uncanny, must be his father. His shoulder slump, he nods, and swings again. “Are you a girl? Should I buy you some panties?” again comes the dad.

Leather covered fist slams now; not into the bag, but into the face of hate. The bag has become his father, and you see a smile finally come across his face.