Terrence, the dragon as he called himself, stood lazily beside the podium. He knew he should adjust his vest and tuck in his shirt, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Yeah, that’s defiance, baby.

His cell buzzed, and the picture of a little tiara told him the message was from Gary, one of his buds. The message read, “Grapefruit boxing?” He’d attached a picture of himself with his hands somehow stuck into two large grapefruit. That guy was nuts.

Before he could key in a response, a horn honked, duty calling. The car was sweet, a new Cadillac, but Terrence had to do a double take as the four occupants piled out. Women, dressed to the nines, smelling of delicate perfumes and lust, exited gracefully, seduction in every movement. And they were old enough to be his grandmother, every one of them.

The driver came close, her lips red and teasing, “Careful not to scratch my girl.” She dropped the keys in his hand and winked. She winked! “Bring 10 daffodils to room 21, if you’re man enough.” And off they went.