In was only a few seconds after the bell rung, but Abramson seemed to have leaped across the ring. His footwork was impeccable, switching left and right in a dazzling display of finesse. It was as if god himself gave the man wings and had him fly across the canvas. The first punch came as a violent shock. A hook as fast as lightning off to the side, striking the tip of the Brook’s guard; a test shot used to gauge the strength of the guard, the quickness of his opponent’s eyes. Abramson strafed around Brook’s in a circle, unleashing a hail of light punches. Testing and testing again to see if there was something he could use. Did Brook’s guard too much with one hand? Did the man lean a little too much on one side? Does his eyes have trouble following the punches? These questions played out in Abramson mind, collecting scraps of information like a crazed animal.