Other residents sheltered under a magnolia tree. His movements were flawless, brown thighs erupting in patches of muscle as he crouched and turned, turned and crouched. A storm had blown through the early hours, washing the grounds and leaving behind steaming shuffleboard courts and the smell of chlorine and wet grass.Ī group of retired and restful men had already gathered below him and were trying to follow the gestures of the itinerant ta’i chi instructor. As the light shifted and spread, he paused to watch the sky. He shivered once, as though sloughing off an unwanted garment, and felt the stipples rise in a quick wave from his upper back to his buttocks. The chill morning air tightened Charles’s naked skin. The wooden box in front of him was filled with these plants, their spidery green veins segmenting heart-shaped leaves. He held pruning shears in one hand and grasped the stem of a pale caladium in the other.
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