— Fiction —

Political Posturing

“Here, try this one,” said the elder, exaggerating a professional strut and dawning a ridiculous stern look. “That’s the middle-class posture.”

“Ah, I wondered about it,” said the younger, mimicking the elder.

“Now this,” said the elder, growing his stomach, his jowls increasing in stature, and holding himself butler-like, “this is the fat-cat posture. You’ll need it much more than you think.”

The younger attempted this one. It was difficult for him at first. Struggling and forgetting his history as a trim man, he pulled it off.

“It’s especially good for exotic vacations not to mention long Vegas weekends—all kinds’a stuff,” the elder said wisely, winking.

* * *

As they arrived outside the majestic white stone building, the younger said, “You never taught me the working-class one. I feel unprepared.”

“Relax,” said the elder, straightening his protégé’s tie. He chuckled through cigar smoke. “What makes you think you’ll need that for anything?”