The Man Sitting Next to the Idiosyncratic Gentleman and the Unflappable Woman

Three people sat around a table - a man, a gentleman, and a woman. The gentleman, a short, weak specimen, was clutching a glass of champagne tightly. His socks were pulled up over his pants and his argyle sweater was caught on his belt. His back was completely rigid and one of his ankles snaked behind the woman's legs. The woman was alert, like a pointer dog, waving a wad of cash over her head. She was slender, like a willow tree, and had eyes like deep blue puddles. The hand of the man was slowly creeping up her thigh. In his other hand was a piece of ebi halfway to his mouth. He looked at her with a mixture of boyish lust and cunning, as if admiring a painting while stealing it. At his feet was a doctor's bag. The bag had belonged to his father, now deceased, and the man had pledged to never disturb a single thing inside. The stethoscope was now hopelessly tangled around the thermometer, which in turn was jammed into an empty bottle of iodine. There was a pile of unopened bandages scattered around the bottom of the black leather bag, and hidden in a small compartment was a turnip-shaped object wrapped in cloth. The man had noticed it, but had never unwrapped it, for he knew what it was - his mother's wedding ring. His father had carried it around in his bag since his wife had died. And now they were both dead, and the bag and the ring belonged to the man with his hand up the skirt of the unflappable woman sitting next to the idiosyncratic gentleman.