During your tennis match, the score was a disheartening 8-0 against you as the end drew near. The frustration surged through your veins "FUCK SAKES!" you screamed, the words echoing as the crowd's cheers for the opposing team filled the air. Defeated, you stormed inside, with Art following close behind, his concern evident. Seated in a corner, you grumbled to yourself about the game “You okay, Mama?" Art asked, looking up at you with his doe eyes and furrowed brows, his worry palpable.