chelsea, my friend and i tiptoe silently up to 2 tables out of three tables. an old man with flat gray hair gave us a crooked smile wishing we hadent disturbed the silence. it's as silent as a night in the country. each person moves their peice. not a single word is passed through their lips. Thier straght faces without a smile or a frown.
Every weekend they're up there at the chess table not knowing who their opponent will be. the tables are fairly new. they have black and white checker boards that are even and straight. the table is made out of stone. there are little seats to sit on so you can play the game.
This part is my favorite part of stuyvesant town. I love the way the men come here every day just to play a simple game of chess. I love how its so peaceful but most of all i enjoy the quizzical look upon their face and their furrowed eyebrows deep in thought. this place always smells of clean old men and fresh grasss mixed together. i can hear them grunting in dissaprovel very softly when their opponent makes a good move.
Finally the old mans game is over. i can see him smile for he has won the game. slowly he packs everything away. his pawns come first, then his knights, his bishops, his rooks, his queens and last but not least the kings. he takes his clocks and slides it carefully into his bag. he gets up s-l-o-w-l-y and puts his bag over his shoulder. with that he starts walking bacxk to his apartment. as i am walking on with chelsea beside me i keep thinking to myself that i never really knew what those chess players did and now i have found out.