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Grabbing my bat, I took my time getting to the plate. Hitting was a foreign language to me. To put it succinctly, I sucked like a Hoover.Little Rock brought in a scrawny guy to pitch to me, who looked like he might pitch, or might simply fall over in a faint. He was so skinny, I wondered how he could keep his pants up, but he had a tremendous fastball, with no movement. If I could catch up to it, I could hurt them.That was wishful thinking.Good morning. Good afternoon. Good night. Three pitches and I didn't even make contact.I looked so bad I was laughing at myself on my back to the dugout. Because I refused to take my lousy hitting seriously, the team rallied around me and made me feel so much better."Listen, sport. Try taking a bat out there next time..." Hey, did you even see the baseball? You know, it's that round white thing that flew by you so fast, you spun around like a top." Yo, White Guy. You understand this is a game where you throw AND hit, right???"I let them have their. A passing gypsy heard her weeping from outside her cottage, for the door that had separated the inside from the outside was indeed gone, stolen by Fleece Swindle, who Divinity Mundane neither remember, nor would ever see again. ‘Ho! Ho, in there!’ The old gypsy called out. ‘Who cries?’ Divinity Mundane appeared in the empty space where her door had been, still weeping. ‘It is I, Divinity Mundane. I weep because I have lost all things in this world that I had.’ ‘Oooh,’ The gypsy cackled, ‘…not everything.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well,’ The old gypsy woman smiled coyly, pulling a small ivory pipe from within the layers of her clothes. ‘…it seems to me, so strongly, you glow with more than just a life of your own.’ She said, putting a strange blend of herbs into her pipe. The old gypsy, ancient, and thin lit her pipe, and inhaled deeply. Divinity Mundane stood with an unexceptional expression on her face as the gypsy exhaled, blowing the smoke into her face. Divinity Mundane coughed on.
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