Cleanthony Early left his apartment in plenty of time to make it to practice. He had been late a few times recently due to the unpredictable whims of New York City traffic. However, today, all the green lights smiled at him, and sailed down streets which were significantly less crowded than usual.
As he drove, he thought about making a pit stop for some grub. He was on pace to arrive a few minutes ahead of schedule and his stomach wanted attention. The 7-Elevens on his route beckoned him with their promises of stuffed Doritos and the Slurpees with two flavors in one cup, but he bypassed them, figuring it was better to be prompt than to risk being late again. Thirty extra minutes to get up some shots couldn’t do any harm, right?
Pulling into the parking lot, he found a parking space close to the door and quickly hustled into the arena, hoping to avoid getting too cold. Walking in, the only people he saw were Amar’e Stoudemire, Derek Fisher, and a few of the assistant coaches.
Derek raised one eyebrow as Cleanthony walked in. “You’re Early.”