Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax, put the stressful day behind you,

and drift off to sleep.

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It's been two years since we started this podcast,

and my husband and I would like to thank every single listener,

old and you. We couldn't do this without you.

Tonight, I will be reading a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Four Fists. So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

1.

At the present time, no one I know has the slightest desire to hit Samuel Meredith.

Possibly this is because a man over 50 is liable to be rather

severely cracked at the impact of a hostile fist. But for my part, I'm inclined to think that

all his hitable qualities have quite vanished. But it is certain that at various times in his

life, hitable qualities were in his

face, as surely as kissable qualities ever lurked in a girl's lips. I'm sure everyone has met a man

like that, been casually introduced, even made a friend of him. It felt he was the sort who aroused

passionate dislike, expressed by some in the involuntary clenching of him, it felt he was the sort who aroused a passionate dislike, expressed by

some in the involuntary clenching of fists, and in others by mutterings about taking a poke

and landing a swift smash in the eye. In the juxtaposition of Samuel Meredith's features,

...