then I’m off, swinging a leg over the fence. “Eaton! What you doing?” one of the coaches calls out to me as I drop onto the landing and toss my helmet, reaching for my favorite brown hat instead. “I’m done.” “You’re what?” The guy looks genuinely fucking confused. “Consider this my retirement notice. I’m out. That bull gets a night off.” And I live to breathe another day. That part is pretty important too.
