Service Games

The padel ball smacked against the glass wall, that familiar hollow sound that had become the soundtrack to Marco's Wednesday evenings. At forty-seven, he found himself here—divorced, middle management, chasing a small rubber ball while his knee silently protested.

'Take the bull by the horns, Marco,' his boss had bellowed that morning, a man who genuinely believed corporate aphorisms constituted leadership. The bull in question was the Reynolds account—a dying beast of a client that everyone knew should be put out to its misery, but corporate inertia demanded they keep trying to revive it.

Marco swung his racquet. Missed.

'You're distracted,' said Elena, his partner for three seasons. She was sixty-two, retired, and played with the calm of someone who'd survived worse than a losing padel match. 'Everything okay?'

He thought about telling her. About the performance review looming. About the apartment that felt too large since Anna left. About how he'd started talking to his dog, Barnaby, a rescue with one ear and trust issues, as if the animal might offer career guidance.

'Fine,' Marco said. 'Just tired.'

They played another point. The rhythm returned—the soft thud of ball on racquet, the strategic angles, the brief satisfaction of a perfectly placed shot. For twenty minutes, he wasn't a man grappling with the quiet desperation of middle age. He was just movement and instinct.

Afterward, sitting on the bench while Elena packed her bag, Marco's phone buzzed. An email from his boss: Reynolds wanted to meet. Tomorrow. 8 AM.

The bull was waiting.

He walked home under streetlights that made everything look slightly yellow. Barnaby met him at the door, tail thumping against the doorframe with the enthusiasm of someone genuinely happy to see him—something Marco couldn't say about anyone else in his life lately.

'You're a good boy,' Marco said, scratching behind the dog's good ear. Barnaby looked at him with what Marco imagined was understanding. 'Tomorrow I quit the Reynolds account. Let them find someone else to ride the bull.'

The dog sneezed.

Marco laughed. It had been weeks. He poured himself a whiskey, sat on the couch, and for the first time in months, felt like he might actually sleep.