Fiction Saturday – Continued
On a pastel-colored sun porch that would have been more at home in Boca Raton than in the New York City suburbs sat an old man who, though frail, still comfortably carried an air of command. Shrunken from time and disease, he was almost lost in the oversized peacock chair. A glass of iced tea nestled in his left hand. He cradled it as if it were as delicate as a swallow’s egg. His attention was focused, not on the man who was talking to him, but on the game table in front of his chair.
Four young and muscular men lounged about on the porch, getting some sun and seeing to the old man’s needs and wishes. They respected his position and feared his power.