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He catches it on the volley and the ball arcs upward before dipping viciously down. The ball rolls to Modise on the left-wing, he drops his right shoulder sending the defender to the left before flicking the ball up to the right. They watch Modise weave and bounce the ball between players. It’s so subtle, the way he uses it to draw players away from where he wants to go.” “That’s Modise right there, see his movement. “Thanks, I haven’t even done a bartending course would you believe it? But look here,” he points at the screen. Seeing it again she takes another sip, “Great old fashioned.” She has forgotten about her drink in the bartender’s barrage. Just replace this other game that’s on.” The holoscreen briefly goes black as it searches for the video. Rose can you bring up highlights of Modise’s game against the USA, the 5-2 one. Do you know Modise? You don’t know what beauty is till you’ve seen him on the ball. When he returns he is holding a large frame. It was a short walk home, but my uncle was worried I’d collapse from a heatstroke. The final score was two all but after that, I became soccer mad. My voice was gone from all the singing and shouting just from that goal. The vuvuzelas, well them combined with that roof – have you heard a vuvuzela? Well, they’re loud and after we scored the first goal they went off and the whole roof was buzzing along too. Anyway, I was there with my uncle, ended up on his shoulders a lot in that game, and my what a game. They had just finished a roof upgrade, and I must have been about seven or eight.
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We, Bafana Bafana I mean, were playing this consortium from the EU. Before all this ice shit, I don’t know if you’re old enough to know what things were like before this. “What a question!” His posture straightens as he launches into a “It was twenty one fifty… or somewhere there about, the maths gets tricky sometimes. “How about you? Do you care much for soccer?” The match provides poor viewing, one team content to pass and the other quite happy to watch them. He fills a mug with boiling water for himself and then settles back to watch the holoscreen. He clicks his tongue before turning back to the urn. The old man is scowling at a knot of wood in the bar. She turns her attention away from him, focusing instead on the soccer and letting her mind wander. “No,” he spits some phlegm into the bucket next to him. “You couldn’t get some crop diversification?” The highest floors are too cold to do anything in but one can use a small reclimatiser in some of the lower ones, if you have the energy.” The man waves a hand in the direction of the roof, “I’ve got a little potato farm going above us. “Cheers,” she sits with her hands cupped around the glass. The sides of the glass fog up as he pours in some hot water. The scratch of the lid unscrewing blends with the low hum of a reclimatiser. “For the next one,” she sighs and downs the drink. But still, it’s nice to give the customer options.” He points at a silver urn behind him, “I can add some hot water if you would like.” Whatever you order it will just be vodka. “What do you mean it is?” She glares at him. She takes a small sip and gives a small cough, “It’s just vodka!” He fills the glass up halfway before sliding it to her. The man nods before bending to get a glass from beneath the counter and a clear bottle. She looks at the faded menu behind him, “No worries. We don’t get too many customers these days. The man slowly stirs, blinking up at her and giving her a smile.
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She has a thin red band on her left thumb. They must have been like this for five minutes before she eventually removes a glove and raps her knuckles on the bar. She is uncomfortably upright in the stool and his head has flopped further down his chest. Next to it stands a large metal filing cabinet and another small counter. Behind him, there is another door that she presumes to lead upstairs. She sits on one of the stools waiting for the man to stir. The carpet muffles the stomps of her boots as she walks to the bar. She feels a pang when she sees the red ground they’re playing on.
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A game of soccer is playing on an old holoscreen. The bar is your standard plank of wood with stools lined up. There are the usual geometric ones and some other more interesting shapes the colour of whatever liquid was spilt. The floor is covered in a brown carpet patterned with orange shapes. It’s small, some three meters wide and seven meters long. At the bottom of the three steps is a coat stand and she takes her purple coat off. She feels the warmth from the room wash over her and it brings a faint smell of disinfectant mixed with cooking oil. Light spills into the entranceway casting it in soft orange. A shiver runs up her spine and her body gives an involuntary twitch. The steel door clangs shut behind her casting the small concrete entranceway into darkness.