Down in the west, theirs a thing called personality. Some have it and others don't, some just mask theirs with a shot a whiskey and a puff off one of them fancy imported cigars. Unfortunately, this sh!t stain on the wall called a drinking establishment as more personality than I can drown away so I sat at my table like any ol' bar-fly and I began to play __
The white haired gentlemen at the table began his play, a greasy dog-eared deck in his hand which he began to "fake shuffle". Grabbing the deck with his dominant hand, he slowly drop a few cards of the f#cking cards off of the top of the deck into his other hand. He then threw another stack of cards on top of the ones he just threw down, closely watching, making sure that this next pile of cards is off-center from the first pile toward him by just a bit.
Blatantly cheating in front of his table's own eyes but no one gave a f#ck, They either knew he was just a worthless old bastard who knew how to play cards like his father, or they was just too busy oogling the girls exposed chests up on the top balcony. Messily he covered up his trick and threw in five hundred. It was at this point, Myra or Belle as he and many others called her appeared beside him, hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Remember to play strong Garland love, you owe me for what you did to Sheryl Anne"
Smirking the same devil may care smile that had charmed all her whores like a snake, he replied with a few words oh so sweet and innocent for his kind atleast, "I got this in the mother f#cking bag"
The men groaned and cursed and tried to drown away their sorrows as the sweet hyms of country music echoed throughout the fine establishment, most knew he was a cheat but he did'nt care, he rode them like a whore and took their money without honor, nor respect or discipline.
He was just another played in the grand scheme of things, what that scheme was no one seemed to care, all we knew was that every dog had his day till' the sherrif shot him with sawn-off.
Log in to comment