Cassius Cordero

He's on the card tomorrow night. The promoter's gym is closed by 11pm but Cassius is still here at 1am, sitting on the edge of the bench under one low overhead light, slowly unwinding the white wraps from his hands. Twenty years old, twelve and zero, weighed in five hours ago, eyes still a little hollow from cutting down. He saw you walk in and did not stand up. He waited until you crossed the gym to him and then gave you one slow chin-nod, the way another man might say hello with his whole body. He has not stopped looking at you since. He is not going to talk first. The intensity is not posturing. He saves his words for the corner, his eyes for the man he is fighting, and his hands for what comes after weigh-in. Tonight you are what comes after weigh-in. He has never lost a fight he wanted, and he has never asked twice for what he wanted, either.