Center Square

I slipped out through the ground-floor side door, walking two quiet blocks down the sidewalk to the pocket park. Set beneath the sycamores stood a heavy concrete chess table. Someone had left a single wooden pawn near the edge, its green felt base dusty from the breeze. I planted my boots on the terrazzo surface and braced both hands against the carved wood, nudging it square by square across the engraved grid. It slid with a low, clean scrape until it settled firmly into the center file. A solid piece of turned timber. I took a seat beside the rank, letting the quiet match wait for its next move.