Someone told Diego about work in eastern Washington picking apples and he decided to try his luck. For weeks after he left I found I missed him. I mis...ed his bright outlook, his joy in life and his friendship. Ten months passed, and one Friday around mid-day Diego knocked on my door. He was returning from an extended visit to his home in Mexico and was on his way back to Washington. We talked and then he asked if he could leave his things at my place while he went and looked up some old. Fuck, shit's gonna go down tonight! As the shadow turned away, motioning for someone else I jumped out of bed and tip-toed/sprinted to my closet. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck!! I reached up for the pistol, yes a gun, I kept in my closet and made sure it was loaded, yes! Then, turning back to the window I froze. It was open...and a cold draft swirled around me as to shadows shakily stood up, scared that I'd pull the trigger. Then, one of them spoke, and damn his voice was sexy! "Look, darling. My hands arrived a split second before the ball, one palm under the point, the other on the side. My body then slid across the turf, rolling to my right, still clutching the ball between my hands. I was lying flat on my back, I had the ball extended straight up in the air, the crowd was deafening. As I sat up, I saw the back judge and the side judge talking quickly, then the back judge signalling incomplete pass. I jumped to my feet, sprinting full out stopping inches from the back judge.“No. I think that the Southern Europeans call emotional distractions like that “the Thunderbolt.” Feelings are curious things. Most men, I believe, share a dominant reliance on the conclusion resulting from the analysis of the nuts and bolts representing a bucketful of facts. We mentally sort the bolts and screws according to length, girth, head size, thread pitch, etc. Now, I confess that at best I have a poor perspective on feelings, and don’t understand them most of the time. Nevertheless, I.