Before continuing down the hall, Becker slows his cart past the dining room and signals Outside to Von sitting at the back. Von nods, smoothes his toupee—black, a swoop of shine in the middle, and stacked high like a microphone waiting for God—and, patting his chest, raises his hand; he grumbles but stops himself from faking chest pain as when he wanted to get out of movie night and see a gamer girl who, Becker told him, streams while wearing a bikini and a hard hat.
William Auten – “Cornerstone”