The interview broke off abruptly and then Gortat saw him.
He was clinging to the backboard in the Staples, embracing the moss-grown stone with his Stern-oil spoiled hands, so corrupt that memories of the Florida elections came back.
Gortat slewly drew closer, eyes on the shotclock, his step soft and springy, tracing the movement of the beast from half-court to the paint. The creature was glued to the 3 point line and followed the Polish Hammer with his eyes, turning his rapist face with an expression of longing and full of charm.
Gortat halted at a distance of 10 feet. His hammer, thrown by Nash faster than a shadow, glistened and glowed above his head.
"I polished it."he said" Nash blessed it."
The little face did not flinch: his eyes did not change expression.
"You so are like Augistin" Gortat said calmly "that you could deceive anyone. But you are a special one, like a snake. What are you? I think you are Rondo or Durant. An ordinary draq queen wouldn't come out to the Suns"
"Are you Durant?"
A slow shake of the head.... tbc