Caught on Camera by Meg Maguire6/29/2023 The next time she got close to a guy, she hoped to heck he smelled like a gentleman. Steph had sampled enough of each to last a lifetime. Sweat and concrete-the scents of laboring men. A thick sheet of rubber flaps hung over the would-be door, but dust still escaped. In the workers’ corner-shouted questions and directions, the squeal of a band saw or sander from inside the space that would become a second locker room in a couple weeks’ time. In the fighters’ corner-the sounds of gloves whacking and men grunting, the bass din of the hip-hop that fueled their drills. The cardio equipment and mats and the boxing and octagonal rings were crowded to one side, the other half overtaken by milling contractors and stacks of cinder block. It wasn’t how she remembered it from her last visit, in November. STEPH PAUSED AT THE BOTTOM of the steps, gym bag in hand, and gave the space a long study.
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