I try my hand at serving a tennis ball and I'm pretty damn good. A man, older, manager, is very interested in my prowess and he has his helpers line up behind me and hand me tennis balls as I lob them consistently over the net. I miss hitting some and feel frustrated, like the dream theme is to be a perfect hitter and somehow I'm not doing it. So I will it to be done. I'm handed some strange tennis balls that are not padded well, or square almost. Then I wake up in a room and don't know where I am, but suspect I'm in a room the manager got for me. I smoke a cigarette, aware a tennis athlete wouldn't do that. Someone knocks at the door and I go answer it, hesitantly looking for where the door is. It's some big, muscular man selling something. I go back in and peek around a corner of a door to see who is there. It's a woman, possibly the manager's wife. She has dark hair.