The doorman hated the security guard for sitting at a desk,
warm, indoors and likely watching a basketball game on the monitors. The guard hated the doorman for getting
tips. Handful after handful of
folded bills was deftly, almost secretly, pressed into his palm just for
calling a cab forward or opening a door.
Especially at Christmas.
The two had little in common beyond their shifts and an
array of shiny buttons on their uniforms.
The doorman had a tall hat.
The guard had an air gun he could use to knock that hat off the
doorman’s smug head.
Tonight the doorman opened the door for the guard’s son,
whom the guard hadn’t seen in years.
The doorman beamed at their yuletide reunion and his own ingenuity for
orchestrating it.
“Is that an air gun?” asked the son.
“Yes.”
“How far away can you knock that guy’s hat off from?”
