Alexey Shved sat happily in his downtown Philadelphia apartment. He had eschewed the normal trappings of an NBA player; his residence looked like it was dwelt in by a lonely Russian with an alcohol problem and no money.
Only the first part was true, as evidenced by the extremely expensive bottle of vodka he was downing at an alarming rate. The great amount of alcohol seemed to have no effect, however, as he picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number.
“Hello Shabazz, it Alexey, maybe you want hang out?…” Click.
Shabazz Muhammad had, up to this point, rejected every single one of Shved’s requests to hang out, but that had not stopped Alexey from developing the mistaken notion that they were the best of friends. Not even the long distance between Philadelphia and Minnesota could dampen his enthusiasm.
Alexey tried again. He knew how iffy cellular connections could be.
“Hey Shabazz, good friend Alexey again, are you…” Click.
The utter lack of reciprocity was unnoticed by the Russian. He put down his phone, ready to try again in half an hour or so. In the meantime, he decided to continue staring happily at the wall, thinking of all the good times he and Shabazz would have.