He hit the heavy bag in lethal combinations. Left, left,
left, right, uppercut. Sweat dripped off of him in a torrent as he banged the
bag into submission. His shoulder ached with all the fires of hell. He couldn’t
talk about it. He couldn’t complain. Nobody would give a damn. He was just
meat. Meat don’t talk. Meat don’t bitch. Meat just got et. Just the same as it
had always been.
