The itch

If you were at the Gabba, they’d be off by now. But this is Delhi. The streets still play. As I walk past K-60 something, a button of a boy is being hurled balls at – he digs a yorker length, which compels me to walk forward, eyes backwards. I see the next delivery, much shorter, bounce beats him, and smacks the wall wicket but it's way too high. The two bully elders inform kiddo he’s OUT, and work their way to snatch his bat. Kiddo argues as his voice is drowned by the authority of age. It’s pissing the hell out of me, I’m three houses ahead, almost in a tame Let it Be mode. I look back, yell, OOOONCHA THA!

Enough fucking watch, wanna play.