Nova stood outside the shop, the wind breezing through Boston as cold as ever. He held the litter box with the kittens inside. The rackets, now strung with high-tension multifilament strings, recommended by the shop's specialist, were placed inside their original covers, which were hanging over his shoulders.
The specialist had given him the power and control of a professional-grade player, even though he didn't understand what that meant, since he barely understood the nuances of string tension.
His appointment with the badminton coach, which he had booked, was in an hour, and the anticipation was making him excited, yet nervous. He didn't know why he felt nervous, but he just did.
