Push

Nancy and Victor sit opposite each other as the sun makes its way away from them in search of some darker place. The air iced with forget me knots, Victor's knuckles turning inwards towards his wrists flanked widley with bracelets deeply grooved to his skin.

It's time to begin.

The smooth sexy wood glides across his fingers but he still finds his grip. The first move is always the hardest. Cheap trick.
Nancy shifts. Her checked rug pulled against her knees knitted tightly to the chair where she sits every afternoon 'til 5. With him.

The game is played as always. Nancy still and smiling in her pod of silence, Victor moving his arthritic hands over the board like a crippled dragon fly dipping and cavorting, sacrificial pawns kicking up a fuss. Much ado about nothing.

Until 5pm, when it is too dark to stay and the darling boy from the cafe comes over, (as always), to release the brake on Nancy's chair and wheel her inside leaving the empty space behind her to deal with the sun and all its misgivings.