The doorbell rang.
“Who could that be? I’m not expecting visitors, especially at this late hour.” he thought to himself.
Taking off his reading glasses and setting down his glass of brandy, Javale got up from in front of the fireplace and strode to the front door. He opened it. Standing on the stoop was Nick Young. He didn’t look happy.
“Hello Nick, my old friend. To what do I owe the pleasure?
“You’ve been ignorin’ my texts man. What’s up with that? Ain’t we cool no more?”
“I never check my phone anymore, Nick. I’ve got more enlightening things to do than sit around with my face buried in that thing. Why don’t you come inside? I’ve got a roaring fire and some nice brandy.”
“What the hell? Brandy? What happened to the old Javale? The one who did the Cinnamon Challenge with me? Where is he? Is he still in there, you damned sellout?”
“Nick, that part of my life is over. Since coming to Denver, I’ve matured as a basketball player, and as a human being. I take joy now in the finer things. Now why don’t you come inside? I’ve got a nice Merlot that I’ve been holding onto for a special occasion, if you would prefer.”
“Screw you man. I’ll find someone else to roll wit. I don’t even know you no more.”
He turned and walked away quickly before Javale could see the tears on his face. Javale looked sadly on as the afroed figure disappeared into the snowy night. “Oh well”, he thought. “Better finish up that fascinating article about China’s labor problem in The Economist.”