The Italian man in courtside seats at the ATP Barclays World Tour was facing away from the tennis.
He took many, many photos of himself with his phone, each with an identical grin made sinister by repetition. His wife was allowed to be in some of the pictures, or to take one when his arm seemed not long enough. Rafa Nadal was an overexposed blur in the background, dwarfed by the gormless smile of a man spectating himself.
The man turned back to the tennis and filmed Rafa wiping his face with a towel. Rafa served. Immediately disinterested, the man resumed staring deeply into his own eyes, only ever stopping to film Rafa wiping his face with a towel.
Three games into the second set, someone sitting behind the man grabbed his phone and began pounding his head with it.
“Mi telefonio! Mi telefonio!!” screamed the man.
Again and again, the angry man smashed the well-built phone against its owner’s soft little eyes and bald empty head until it broke through his skull and killed him, robbing the world of a 10-minute Rafa-Nadal-Wiping-His-Face-With-A-Towel supercut.
His wife shrieked hysterically while photographing her husband's piecemeal cranium, posting the pictures to her social media accounts and octothorping them with the words omicidia, vedova and ATPWorldTourFinals.
I placed the husband’s phone near his wife and went home and washed the blood from my hair and skin and burnt my clothes.
The Italian man’s wife went home to a house filled with mirrors.