Earlier this week, the Woodland Garden Mahjong Mafia met for breakfast at Big Daddy’s Burgers, the Girl from 313 among them. Curious to learn about mafia goings on, and having been banned from their regular Wednesday gatherings, and I contrived a way to gain to attend the breakfast with the Sage of Juniata Street as my wheels and bodyguard. You can’t be too careful when dealing with the mafia. They wear identifying sox and recite a pledge: what comes up in Mahjong, stays in Mahjong. One wrong step and I could wind up the duck pond as muskrat fodder.
The breakfast went really fine. The food was great. Lively conversation flowed, interrupted only by occasional outbursts from three tables down, where eight men rattled dice. Sage Clyde regaled the ladies with stories, leaving scant space for my wisdom.
Well over an hour passed. I made mental notes, like the power structure and secret eye exchanges. Then, as if on cue, the girls gathered their purses, thanked me and the Sage profusely, and marched out, right past the cash register. The waitress handed me the tab. I made another mental note. I’ll keep you posted.
Older but Wiser Grandpa Lloyd