Dictator

Ten minutes after the starting time, the empty chair made me antsy. “Has he texted any of you?”

Diana, scrolling on her iPhone and twirling her dark ponytail, huffed and rested her feet on the vacant seat. “He must be too busy for us. I say we begin.”

Simone snickered, and pushed up her glasses. “So cruel,” she said, and put away the medical journal she was skimming. The two women were the best kind of regulars, ready on time with dice and supplies—including snacks, like the half-finished bag of pork rinds. 

Players came and went, but I could count on this duo to make the game happen. Standing alone by the wall of full-length windows overlooking the streets, Sarah said, at long last: “I think that’s him.”