You are the chance that I am afraid to take.
I walked towards the baseline to receive the pass, hoping to score a last second basket. I realised the ball needs to travel 28metres in 0.1 seconds. Still I was in no hurry.
It was a shot I did not take.
***
On the train home after the game, I flipped open Haruki Murakami to begin my wildsheepchase.
Right under City Hall station I subconsciously felt the tremors of F1 engines roaring above. My beloved Lion City, host to international guests had done an excellent job of having the glamour well lit. 20ft under the makeshift racetrack, the pulse of our city ran through. The citizens packed into tubes blissfully unaware of the rumble going on. Sleep and rest paramount to them.
It was then a voice-over on the intercom asked for the person who sounded the emergency button. Time froze as I had flashes of Murakami's "Undergroud" before me. Could this be the cursed train ride that I'd unknowingly take. Even more important is: Would anyone bother to know who were on the trian in the event of an incident. Would anyone bother to know their stories?
I realised the F1 driver's crashes could splash the papers. They were in too much of a hurry.
This was a story that I undertook to writing.