He flipped open his ticket book and started writing. She thought about losing her license. Having to tell her boss she couldn’t drive anymore. Would...he fire her? “Please, sir. Isn’t there another way?” “I’m afraid not. You’re a habitual speeder. Eight tickets in the last year? And how many have you talked your way out of?” She didn’t want to answer that. She tried another smile up at him, but felt how weak it was. He stopped writing. “It’s your choice, ma’am. A hard lashing with my belt...or. The old timers know the Bell Captain had been right, it is him. The Concierge looks over her shoulder and sees eight pair of eyes staring across the Reception Desk. She cranes over her counter and looks up at the housekeepers and bellman crowding the Mezzanine. Waitresses all “go on break” and stand around the potted plants lining the way to the Bar. Cane and all, the old man is still sprightly for his age, whatever that may be. He makes his way from the elevator to the chair oblivious, it. More

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