He slid through empty seats mounted on tiers, moving down as close as he was allowed to the actual court. A large piece of Plexiglas separated him from the two men aggressively battling it out for final points on the court. One man was tall, lean, a sharp and accurate player. The other man was much shorter, heavyset, with a beer belly he liked to smack affectionately and refer to as his “old hanger-on.” His legs were spindly and looked as if every sudden shift in direction might cause them to break like twigs. His thin blond hair was tied off in a sweat-soaked bandanna, and his LaCoste shirt was plastered to his chest. The first man was, by contrast, calm and self-possessed. His opponent was on the ropes, and he had barely broken a sweat. The bearded spectator rolled his eyes as the heavyset man lunged at the ball and missed it by the width of several states. He thought to himself, as the two players shook hands, See if you can pick the likely candidate for mayor, and groaned silently.
