She knocks out four pins on her
first roll, none on her second. I pick up my pink bowling ball and feel a
certain amount of pressure. To our left, the lanes are filled with small gentlemen
in collared shirts and khaki shorts. Their shorts feature utility pockets.
They’re wearing high socks. Their legs show the weary tendons of a once
athletic life, but their bodies are sloped lines now and supple semicircles.
Gentle foreheads, many chins, everything moves downwards. Their balls roll
slower than our balls, they rotate with intention. They move like manatees up
and down their lanes.
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