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Steve Prefontaine

Brown walls

A window

Empty shoes

A guitar

A bed with brown sheets that haven't been washed in awhile

Jackets tossed everywhere

A microphone propped up on a black desk

A tan punching bag

A book shelf with close to 111 books on it (yes, I counted)

A poster of myself during a cage fight,

and a poster of Steve Prefontaine.

There’s a quote under Steve’s feet that reads,

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”

A Brazilian Jiu Jitsu Gi hangs on the wall

My laptop is open and senseless words, soon to be called ‘art’,

come stuttering out, like a car that can’t quite turn over.

“I’m giving my best Steve! Stop looking at me like that! Maybe I don’t have a gift to sacrifice! You ever think about those people, huh Steve?? So you could run pretty far pretty fast, big deal!”

I throw my laptop at Steve’s face and it crashes into the wall, and splits into two.

One part has a shattered screen and the other part has broken keys. I look up to Steve with a triumphant smile on my face.

“Looks like I have nothing else to give tonight, Steve.”

I take a big breath and turn my back to Steve’s ugly mustache, but right as I turn around, a notebook hits me in the back of the head. I spin around to look at my rival, but he is still frozen in the poster. I rub the back of my head and bend down to pick up the notebook, and a pen lands at my feet.

“Goddamn-it Steve!’ I yell at him. “I get it! Shit man, you don’t have to throw shit at me…”

I take the notebook and the pen to black desk, and try to give it my best.


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