Off Season

They knew just how to get me. A pretty girl. I met her at a bar, I bought her drinks, and she drugged me.

She could have dropped the shit in my drink at any time. I spent the whole night staring at her body.

I felt a little dizzy. I stumbled against the bar. I remember everyone chanting my name. “Starsky! Starsky! Starky!” Just like on Sunday. Everyone loves the quarterback.

Then she’s helping me into her car. I black out.

I wake-up in some shack. It’s hot as hell and dirty. It smells like a locker room after an overtime game.

I try to sit up, but the pain in my head tells me to stop moving. So I listen and flop back down on the burlap sack my host has laid over the dirt floor.

“How ya feelin’ Starsky?” someone asks.

I try to sit up again so I can see who’s ass I’m going to be kicking when I get out of here. I see a man peering at me through a slot in the shack’s door.

“We are gonna make some money off you Mr. Pro Quarterback.” he says.

I knew I should have stayed in town this off-season.

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