stan (fivehole) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-03-03 12:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | hockey, plastic surgery |
Who: Hockey and Plastic Surgery
Where: Side exit, Madison Square Garden
When: Afternoon
Warnings: Possible language.
The Garden was his temple, it almost felt like a living, breathing entity to Hockey, who slipped through the hallways smoothly, managing to evade the lingering press, the fans and his manager. His hair still stuck to his forehead in clumps after a brutal afternoon practice, Hockey had met with the Gatorade people who wanted to pay him seven million to be their next spokesplayer. His manager was holding out for eight, but Hockey didn't care all that much and had slid out of the meeting as soon as the accounting details had been brought up.
The mixed smell of ice, sweat, popcorn and that undercurrent of blood that permeated his temple was his favourite smell in the world and as he evaded a rather amourous concession stand employee, he breathed in deeply with a happy sigh. Checking his watch, he realized that he had at least an hour until he had to start prepping for the press conference and made a sharp turn and opened a rather non-descript door.
He ended up out in a back ally at the side of the Garden, a little niche where some of the players had painted a target on the walls and always left old sticks and pucks there for random target practice. After a slapshot or two that rang throughout the air, Hockey left the ally with his Rangers ball cap pulled down and his Rangers coat hugged around his body in the chilly aftermath of yesterday's storm. Would Hosers be serving yet? The Canadian style bar was his favourite and he changed direction to head there quickly. But something caught his eyes and he stopped at a newspaper stand and grinned widely at a picture of himself on the front page. Stanley Wayne: The Next One. That was always good to see.