He looked at the price tag: $4.50. A small price to buy back his morning ritual.
He reached in and pulled out a single white ball. It was cold, slightly tacky to the touch, and possessed that distinct, earthy scent of new rubber. He squeezed it, feeling the lack of give. This was the same weight that had shattered his bedroom window three summers ago, the same weight he’d spent a thousand hours throwing against the brick wall of the garage until his shoulder screamed and the sun dipped below the horizon. buy lacrosse ball
He remembered the "thwack-pop" of the pocket catching the ball—a rhythmic heartbeat that had kept him steady through his parents' divorce and the long months of physical therapy after the ACL tear. He looked at the price tag: $4