TYLER
I stick my glasses on my face and wipe the steam off the mirror, rubbing my five-o'clock shadow and trying to decide if I should shave or not. I just got in a killer workout, followed by a hot shower. The locker rooms are oddly quiet, creepy even, without the noise of a bunch of dudes.
I'm glad the holiday break is over. It's been too damn long with everyone out of town and I'm ready to be back on the ice. We're having a banging season, so this year, I've set my sights on my name finally carved into Lord Stanley's motherfucking Cup. Everybody should have some life goals. It's my year, I can feel it. Of course, Vegas has to pull off another championship season for it to happen.
I decide against the shave - chicks dig the shadow - but acknowledge I need to stop at the barber shop for a trim to my undercut. I' a little shaggy and can't have the flow lookin' raggedy as we hit the ice in the new year. I head to my locker to dress just as a text comes through.