Etcetera 27.

And then nothing — no one on the field.

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In this darkness, there’s no way to see the puck.

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Drained swimming pools, lowered banners, redacted box scores.

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The locker room smells like a tomb.

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The stadium filled with rain, and overnight it froze into a block of ice.

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Submarines race along the coast.

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“No score,” it is written in grease pencil on the butcher store window.

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Golf course vanished.

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Someone’s dumping baseballs into the volcano.

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In the shed, a pile of broken tennis racquets.

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The play-by-play announcer has lost his voice.

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Three tickets to the racetrack on the Moon, please.

Written By

Joshua Baldwin is an editor at Eephus. He is the author of The Wilshire Sun, a novella. His writing has appeared in The Paris Review, n+1, The Brooklyn Rail, Chicago Review, Prelude, and elsewhere. He lives in Los Angeles. Reach him at josh@eephusmag.com.

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