A summer-camp counselor is responsible for putting on a play.
The gym doors fling open, kids rush in, and trudging to the water fountain, Matt fills his bottle, careful not to touch the nozzle where every camp kid drooled, sneezed, or sucked on. He towels off, his wheezing slowing, the constriction easing but not letting him go, but when Gail emerges from the office, carrying a clipboard, he would run sprints up and down the court if they could launch him out of here, into anywhere but where he is, and far from what he assumes Gail has waiting for him.William Auten – “Yellow Brick Road”
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