Eating Breakfast - John Fetto

Col. Firth did a half hour of calisthenics and another thirty minute run around the compound before breakfast. Every day. Rain or shine, knees pumping, racing the last hundred yards, a little kick. When he walked into the mess, he was wide awake, already fine tuned, on edge. He’d pull his chair out noisily and chuckle as he sat down, gloating over the sleepy eyed staff, heads bowed over their bowls. They were physically younger, stronger, but Firth was stronger in spirit. He’d always been stronger. That was why he sat where he was and they sat where they were. He was sure of it. So he smiled broadly, waiting to be served.