He sits.

Back against the cold wall. His soul taps from the inside of his irises. His hand held out for a penny or two …

He sits.

Back against the coach. His stick taps from the inside of two hundred dollar gloves. His hand held out to congratulate a millionaire.

He stands.

Rising on knees worn with malnutrition and sleepless nights under an unforgiving blanket of cold. Enough money to buy a coffee and warmth.

He stands.

Rising on one thousand dollar skates donated by a greedy sales representative from a sporting good company. Enough money to buy a Tim Horton franchise.

He wonders.

What happened to his life. Where are his children and wife. Why did she take everything from him and leave him alone.

He wonders.

What happened to his scoring ability. Where are the goals he once scored. Why did the snapshot which made him rich leave him.

He dies.

His heart finally gives out from poor health and broken dreams.

He dies.

His heart finally gives out from poor line mates and broken passes.