The court was ready. The sun was shining. The hoop stood tall. And then Jo arrived — not in sneakers, but in style that screamed “streetwear meets runway with a hint of rebellion.”
Sporting a Chicago tee, tiny shorts, and the confidence of someone who thinks “traveling” means boarding a private jet, Jo sat casually on the edge of the court, blue ball in hand, legs crossed like she’s not here to dribble — she’s here to dominate the vibe.
Her cap? Backwards. Her look? Effortlessly chaotic. Her warmup? Mostly posing.
The game started — or rather, Jo *rose.* She stood up, spun the ball on her fingertip for a glorious half-second (by accident), then launched it toward the basket like she was performing a ritual rather than a layup. It missed. Spectacularly.
Undeterred, she chased the ball and declared: “Basketball is 90% confidence and 10% not spraining an ankle.” A pigeon applauded.
At one point she yelled, “Kobe!” and missed the entire backboard. At another, she blocked a shot by accidentally high-fiving her opponent’s face. Defensive foul? Maybe. Iconic? Definitely.
And let’s be clear — she didn’t score. Not once. But she made every move look like it deserved a slow-motion replay and a dramatic soundtrack.
In the end, Jo sat back down on the curb, ball beside her, smiling like she just won a championship.
Final score: Who cares.
