I watched him for the last nine hours we spent on our feet - every move, a mistake. A quick blow to his ego followed. For three hours that followed, he was a Cinderella that never made it to the ball. Stuck in the back room alone the remainder of the night, he welcomes any company. Without remorse, the older man with his perfect white hair and his thousand dollar suit, presses his words harshly into the younger man ego. The younger man nods and offers a half smile in forced agreement to all accusations of laziness. The younger man excuses himself from the room, lights a cigarette in the back alley, then washes his hands to remove the smell from his hands. He distracts his hands with work. The older man sits comfortably in his chair, his sense of entitlement to power wrapped warmly around his shoulders.