Bread and Tennis

For the first time since, oh, say, 1991, I had a tennis lesson this week. I signed up for a series of classes with the Portland parks department. Being in Portland, its held in a big indoor facility, out of the rain. But it is also across the street from the big bakery in town. And so, as I practice my forehand and backhand and run through different footwork drills, the air is thick with the smell of baking white bread. There's a guy in my class who looks like Lee Harvey Oswald and he hits the ball really hard. Next time I see him at class, I'm going to think of this song:

Bread - If