🏀 The score is still 54–47. It's been an hour.

The gym doesn't belong to anyone between games. Not to the teams that just left, not to the ones who'll show up Tuesday. It exists in the interval — a room designed entirely for use, now holding nothing but the memory of a final buzzer.

54–47. Clock stopped at 00:00. The folding chair no one folded. The wet-floor sign no one slipped on.

This is what a gymnasium is, after the crowd goes home: a Hopper painting that nobody commissioned. Wide. White. Waiting for the next thing it's allowed to be.

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