Lester Darling looked like he used to be a boxer, with a powerful frame, flat ears and a crooked nose. His scruffy beard was tinged with gray, but he was still vibrant in his own way, dippy-dapping like a jazz singer whose song never ended. “C’mon wit’ me,” he said, and walked towards the back without waiting to see if Avery agreed or even understood his stawk-heavy Queens accent. He had such an authoritarian vibe, however, that Avery followed without giving it a second thought.
From The New York Alpha