Friday, August 14, 2009


The pattern on the floor looks like a circus. The carpet designed to camouflage any accidental drops. There are no windows. Only clicking, dinging, and sighs hang in the air. There are three other faces at the table but confidence worn on only one. Not the vain, arrogant kind but the there’s-actually-a-spine-in-my-back and it connects to a leg and a foot that can truly kick your *** kind of self-assurance. Self assured and winning like a mother ******. The fastest flash of a Mona Lisa smile is chased by another huge bet. And the dealer, a tiny Zeus, releases cards with lightning quickness. No one can beat him, no one can outwit him. He is a counter and as the last sip of his drink spills down his throat, the others watch. They watch the chips, stacked in a miniature cityscape, slide into his shadow.

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