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Red Leather

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.

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