By Don Tassone
Brandon had the New York Times delivered daily but never read it. He laid it on his drawing room coffee table to impress his friends, although fewer of them had been dropping by lately.
Most of his guests never made it to his drawing room. They were captivated by the Kiefer painting in his entryway. They lingered over canapés in his black and chrome kitchen or the drinks he mixed from his fully stocked bar.
Lately, though, no one came by. One morning, Brandon sat alone, eyeing the Tiffany floor lamp he never liked. Looking down, he reached for the paper.
Thank you for the warning that substance matters.
Love this. I almost pictured another big phony, sitting in his Mar a Lago estate, finally abandoned by all, reaching for the . . . wait, he can’t read.
A very subtle and enjoyable read. I liked this very much.
What a lonely life for Brandon. Very well written.
Thank you all for your thoughtful comments.