Chase arrived at the gym at nine already tired and sore. Nothing tempted him more than just heading home and sitting in front of the television. He could do it, but that would mean he was a quitter. He'd already spent  the last four weeks injured and flat on his back had he was way behind where he needed to be. Currently he was down, but not out.

Head down and mind determined he pushed open the doors and headed to the locker room. It was never easy- and today would kick his ass but he wasn't about to give up just because the world kept punching him in the face.

Holding his breath to keep out the stench of old grease and sweat he quickly peeled off his uniform.  He was thankful the diner had held his job, but the new uniform rule was a killer. It was spending money to get money and just another pitfall. Besides, wearing a uniform when he never got out of the kitchen  seemed ridiculous.

The stench of the dingy white shirt turned his stomach and he quickly scanned the room to make sure no one else would suffer through the assault. He'd been too tired to wash them before his shift  and now, being closed up in the airless locker wasn't going to help air them out.

He unwadded his just as smelly, but with the added bonus of being stiff and crunchy, workout clothes from the bottom of his backpack and forced himself to put them on.
He wished he'd at least taken a moment this morning to put on some put spray. He was ripe. After his workout he'd shower. Here, at the gym and uninterrupted. But putting on the same clothes he'd worked in for the past three days wouldn't help him feel any fresher. At least he'd be clean, that was something. If he cut 15 mins from his training he could actually make an effort to go home and start a load of laundry, but it probably wouldn't happen. Time was the one thing he never had enough of.

He slammed the locker shut and began the ritual of taping up his hands. They were already raw and red from being in the dishwater at the diner all shift and taking the tape off would probably be painful, but not taping them could cause a broken finger and that would set him back again. He'd deal with the peeling skin, at least he could still fight that way. Blood was glory, but broken bones were a one way ticket to nowhere. He swallowed his fear and headed into the gym.

"Hey! Look who decided to show up."

Chase turned his head and squared his fists ready to tackle an idiot.

"Lincoln? Holy shit! I heard you were in the circuit! What are you slumming around here for?"

Chase pulled him in for a headlock.

"Had to see it for myself. Frankie said you were coming back but I just didn't believe it. Didn't you learn anything flat on your back?"

"Yeah, I learned your mother is way more limber than she appears!"

Lincoln swung a left hook and Chase dodged it and delivered a kidney tap. From the ring Nick blew a whistle and both of them instantly stopped goofing off and looked toward the retired pro boxer. His mammoth size was not what commanded attention, it was his heart. Nick was the heart and soul of the gym and these guys knew none of it would exist without him.

"You boys done measuring your manhoods? You're both pretty. Welcome back Chase. You ready?"

Chase nodded and went to the bag. He focused on finding a rhythm as he swung his fists keeping a steady and increasing pace. He moved from the bag and began a circuit of jump rope crosses before finishing up with a few circular kicks and grabbed a pair of battered black gloves.

As he slipped his sore, tape covered hands into the opening pocket and used his mouth to tighten the laces his his heart sped up. This was what he lived for, the adrenaline of stepping in the ring. Even here at an inner city gym it was enough to keep him going. This was his ticket, and how he got through the other grueling hours of the week.

"It's his first night back Lincoln, no pot shots. Take it easy, but not too easy, I want him working."

Chase glared at him, he wouldn't let Lincoln go easy. He may be the oldest friend he had, but in the ring everyone was fair game.

As he circled Lincoln throwing fake jabs his muscles began to come alive and remember why they existed. The crappy job, the stress of home, the memories of the last fight all vanished. There was only here and now. Lincoln's left hook connected with his jaw and Chase saw flashes of light pulsate but the pain of the hit itself didn't register. All that mattered was getting his own blows delivered and it was as natural as breathing. Maybe more.

Lincoln called it quits first. Both of them looked and smelled like they'd been in a three day long street fight. Lincoln swiped his swelling eye and waggled his eyebrows at Chase who was holding a dirty gym towel to his freshly spouting bloody nose.

"Not bad old timer, rusty and girlish, but you didn't cry, I guess I owe Nick a buck."

Chase spit a glob of rusty goo into the towel and shrugged before answering.

"Don't worry, I'll leave an extra on your mom's dresser tonight."

Chase jumped down from the ring before Lincoln had a chance to retaliate. His muscles were screaming and it was almost ten. He had twenty minutes to get back home before curfew. The last thing he needed was his probation officer busting his balls over ten minutes.

He headed to the locker room and threw his workout clothes from his bag to his locker not bothering to fold them. There was no way he'd make it another day without washing them. As bad as he smelled at the moment, the stench of the clothes he was going to put on were worse.

Maybe he thought, he could just take them in the shower with him and save some time. He was too tired to wait for an actual washer cycle. That, and his last three dollars in his pocket would be going to school with his kid brother Mikey, no spare washer change today.

Three more days until payday, only 20 more hours until he was back here again. He could do that, no sweat. With a groan he threw his bag over his shoulder and vanished into the night without bothering to change or shower. He'd do it when he got home. Probably.

The tether on his ankle clanked against the opposite ankle rubbing a raw spot. One more glorious bonus from the universe.  He picked up the pace ignoring his labored breathing and screaming muscles. Pain was gain. And an 11 o'clock curfew was no joke.