Gambler? Are you this much of a gambler? A “gamblin’ man”, for sure. What’s going on here, really going on? Focus. Darren flips the chip in his hand, thumb-to-spin-in-the-air-to-
“I’m out.”
I’m not going to take your bait.
His rival paws at the pile of chips he’s just won. The rings on his right hand are gorilla’s rings, massive, glittercrap, and ugly. One ring is a panther that looks as though it could be a real live gold and black predatory panther. It licks its chops, taunting Darren.
I’m the prey huh? We’ll see.
The woman to Darren’s right sighs, drawing his attention. She’s beautiful, although in an unconventional way. Her black hair is cropped short, accenting the curve of her face and the lines of her neck. Her eyes are unexpectedly large and frame a pointed nose that trails to a petite red mouth. She’s dressed unconventionally as well, in a men’s blue, red, and orange plaid shirt, a black vest over the shirt, and dark blue ripped jeans. Certainly not a lady.
One more. One more take and I’m out of here.
He checks his watch, 3:23AM. Jesus... The game had lasted for almost nine hours. Chips are scattered across the table, neurotically grouped into little towers by some, logically placed by others. Someone should have gone out by now.
“Deal me out of the next round. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Darren stands up from the table and rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck upward. He walks to the bathroom and takes a piss. As he walks back into the main room, he sees the group at his table laughing about something. The fat man that sits to Darren’s left has won a hand for the first time in some time. He’s been the primary mule of the night, chips dwindling to almost nothing. It seems that the fat man has won a sizable pot. More procrastination to the end.
Instead of heading back to the game, Darren walks to the bar and calls for the bartender. He orders a finger of Ice Glen neat, and sits for a moment, sipping his drink. His throat burns a bit as the liquid passes, but it’s refreshing, sobering somehow.
Back to it. One more, maybe two.
Another hand is dealt. Round 1 of betting. Psychem’, draw them in. That’s it little lady, raise me. Mmmhmm. You too Panthro. Now we’re in the game. Now we’re playing.
The players place their final bets and cards are shown. Darren crushes the round. This time most of the chips came from his rival and the woman. There’s enough between his pile and the pot to call it a night; a profitable night at that. He checks his watch again, 3:47AM.
I’ll go ‘til 4:15. Doesn’t matter what happens between now and then, I’ll go.
“I’m out.”
I’m not going to take your bait.
His rival paws at the pile of chips he’s just won. The rings on his right hand are gorilla’s rings, massive, glittercrap, and ugly. One ring is a panther that looks as though it could be a real live gold and black predatory panther. It licks its chops, taunting Darren.
I’m the prey huh? We’ll see.
The woman to Darren’s right sighs, drawing his attention. She’s beautiful, although in an unconventional way. Her black hair is cropped short, accenting the curve of her face and the lines of her neck. Her eyes are unexpectedly large and frame a pointed nose that trails to a petite red mouth. She’s dressed unconventionally as well, in a men’s blue, red, and orange plaid shirt, a black vest over the shirt, and dark blue ripped jeans. Certainly not a lady.
One more. One more take and I’m out of here.
He checks his watch, 3:23AM. Jesus... The game had lasted for almost nine hours. Chips are scattered across the table, neurotically grouped into little towers by some, logically placed by others. Someone should have gone out by now.
“Deal me out of the next round. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Darren stands up from the table and rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck upward. He walks to the bathroom and takes a piss. As he walks back into the main room, he sees the group at his table laughing about something. The fat man that sits to Darren’s left has won a hand for the first time in some time. He’s been the primary mule of the night, chips dwindling to almost nothing. It seems that the fat man has won a sizable pot. More procrastination to the end.
Instead of heading back to the game, Darren walks to the bar and calls for the bartender. He orders a finger of Ice Glen neat, and sits for a moment, sipping his drink. His throat burns a bit as the liquid passes, but it’s refreshing, sobering somehow.
Back to it. One more, maybe two.
Another hand is dealt. Round 1 of betting. Psychem’, draw them in. That’s it little lady, raise me. Mmmhmm. You too Panthro. Now we’re in the game. Now we’re playing.
The players place their final bets and cards are shown. Darren crushes the round. This time most of the chips came from his rival and the woman. There’s enough between his pile and the pot to call it a night; a profitable night at that. He checks his watch again, 3:47AM.
I’ll go ‘til 4:15. Doesn’t matter what happens between now and then, I’ll go.
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