Have you ever been in the air so long that your feet begin to fall in love with the new familiar, walking along some invisible surface that is surely there, that must be, as there is no other way to describe what miracle keeps you afloat?

This idea that what is atop the head or not atop the head or what is temporarily masking the head is all a language, a code.

I knew what it was like to keep something close, just in case there was some error in the universe.

Those be the noblest of hoopers. The ones who, back then, you had to keep an eye on. Cuz they’ve done all the hard shit already. Once they get a little bit of a grip on something new, it’s lights out.

there is nobility in a basketball that has faded, that has gone bald.

on my block it was never cared for, but we knew how to navigate the aftermath of neglect.

Find the point where you are unkillable and jump toward it if you can.

would grab a ball and go to the court alone. I loved most when the world felt newly bald. If you have ever gone from having hair one day to waking up without it the next day, you might be familiar with the gestures of disbelief: the repeated touching, the returns throughout an hour or a day, the shock when a breeze first plants soft kisses upon

How long have you been suspended in a place that loves you with the same ferocity and freedom as the ground might, as the grave might, as a heaven that lets you walk in drowning in gold might?