Giannis Antetokounmpo lay, just outside of the practice facility, flat on his back, yelling in agony.
“AAAAHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHH! It hurts! It hurts!”
Nate Wolters wandered over from the parking lot to see what was wrong. He looked unconcerned despite the apparent intensity of Giannis’ anguish.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
Giannis’ incoherent moans were interspersed with interjections of “OW”.
“You know, this is the kind of thing that happens in Milwaukee.” Nate gestured up at the sky, from which a moderate snow was falling. “You can’t do this every time you go out in the snow. I know it might seem a little strange to you for it to happen with such frequency and intensity.”
Giannis writhed as the snowflakes hit his body protected by many layers of jackets and sweaters.
“But, really, it doesn’t hurt at all. I barely feel a thing. In fact, I enjoy it. Humanity has not evolved in such a way that falling snow causes mortal agony. So why don’t we get you up and get back inside in time for practice. Coach is getting a little tired of your antics.”
Giannis had discontinued his writhing and had instead curled up into a rather large and pointy ball. This newly formed ball emitted some faint whimpers and a weak “help me”.
Nate sighed and shook his head. “Okay, have it your way. See ya later.”