“Come on, old man, don’t be like that,” I say, staring at the silver mustachioed man across from me. “Like what?” he grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring at the chess board. “Cantankerous, ill-tempered and–dare I say–crotchety.” His bushy eyebrows rise as he points a knobby finger at me. “Now you listen here, sport. I’ve been playing chess longer than you’ve been alive. There’s no way you’ve beat me.” “Again,” I fill in for him. “I think you meant to say there’s no way I beat you again, and whether you believe it or not, it’s true.” I smile and sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. “This
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