Bo grabbed a glass of the juice that Mom said he couldn’t have. He was late. She was not home anyway.
He barged through the door of the chess room. “Hi,” he giggled, steadying himself against a waiter carrying a tray of orange juice. The waiter stared back in disbelief.
“May I have a…” Bo hiccuped, “… glass of that!” he pointed to the tray.
“There are so many people.” he thought. “These sets have hundred-odd squares. Strange…” Bo laughed at the scene. He sprawled himself on an ottoman. “I will wait here until the room stops spinning.”