They sat, legs crossed, perched high on the bar stools. They listened to the music. Then one of them pulled out a Kent and Sinatra quickly placed his gold lighter under it and she held his hand, looked at his fingers ; they were nubby and raw and the pinkies protruded, being so stiff from arthritis that he could barely bend them. He was, as usual, immaculately dressed. He wore an Oxford-Grey suit with a vest. A suit conservatively cut on the outside but trimmed with silk within. His shoes, British, seemed to be shined even on the bottom of the soles.
Frank Sinatra has a Cold
first published in Esquire magazine