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 of the stressful day behind you and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, we're revisiting an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story that I read years ago,

The Four Fists.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

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. 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 has ever lurked in a woman'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 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,

this quality was so strong that it influenced

his entire life.

...