T.O.N.Y.

A fountain gurgled happily nearby as I stomped through the moonlit courtyard. A young boy with dusty brown hair swung a stick on the edge of the fountain.

He slipped. I caught him before he splashed into the water below. His smile was bright. Even I had no choice but to return it.

He laughed as he climbed atop the fountain’s edge again and beckoned me to join him. We danced the sword with sticks in our hand.

His father called. “Antonio.”

His reply. “It’s Tony. T. O. N. Y. Tony.”

I shouted “A pleasure, Tony. Next time actual swords.”