Claiming the Turf

You told me to get out of the office and handle real business, so I took the evening run into the city. I hitched a ride out to an open-air lounge along the avenue where the heavy rollers talk numbers. Right across a polished teak patio table sat an ornate cedar cigar box, wide open, alongside a heavy silver cutter and a pair of brass coins abandoned on a dark leather coaster. I didn't hesitate. I marched up the armrest of an empty leather armchair, vaulted onto the table, and planted both boots dead center on the cedar lid. A breeze from the street carried the scent of rich tobacco and coastal air. Let everyone scrambling for scraps take a good look: this whole strip is my territory now.