raging bull guy

by Erica Hoskins Mullenix

What can I say—my tim­ing was off. I'd made that shot a thou­sand men­tal times, and when it counted, I missed. It hap­pens. Happens all the time. A life's work inter­rupted, obscured, uncel­e­brated. That is what's known as nor­mal, ordi­nary, unno­ticed, and that is what I have become. An inch to the left and I'm now that Raging Bull coulda been a con­tender guy. That guy may not be a con­tender, but he lives in infamy, he's immor­tally infa­mous. I am noth­ing, nobody, non­per­sona. Is this me feel­ing sorry for myself? Hello there, yes, this is me feel­ing sorry for myself, a man whose penis was all over the place, con­trolled by demons. Her inside left thigh was a nice enough place.