At sunset, Tommy Hawk was carrying two beers as he walked to the seafront pier at Kingston, where like the past few days, Madoff—an old and obese man—wore a beach hat, sitting on a small fisherman's stool, silently fishing.
"Considering your current physique, does it feel somewhat painful to sit on such a fisherman's stool?" Tommy stood next to Madoff, handing him a beer and then admiring the distant seascape as he asked.
Madoff took a sip of beer and said slowly and with a sigh, "Sometimes it's painful, sometimes extremely painful."
"Since you can look at the issue this way, Mr. Prime Minister, I can speak my mind, without being too delicate. If hanging out with us high school kids the other day was just painful, then soon, everyone in this country will be playing the fool, all to please the eyes of the Americans. That, for you and this country, might indeed be the time of extreme pain," Tommy Hawk stated bluntly as he took a seat on a nearby rock, speaking to Madoff.
