Walter had just completed his five-mile route on the treadmill and was headed from the gym to his car in a nearby parking lot - he was in fact circumnavigating a field on which a few idiotic teenagers were kicking a soccer ball at a field hockey goal, so as not to approach near their game - when he was struck in the side and back of his head by something large and forceful and solid and round, and it sent his glasses flying from his face and his bright white tennis cap skittering from his head and it flattened him on his back on the grass. God damn. He felt for a moment as if he had been shot by an extremely large bullet in the shape of... in the shape of a ball. [excerpt]
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Leebron, Fred G. "Out Cold." Tin House 44 (Summer 2010), 163-180.
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