HOMIES DON’T PLAY POCKET THREES TO A RAISE AND RE-RAISE, DO THEY?
“Call!” The sound somehow pushes its way out of your sandpaper throat, raw from cigar smoke and trepidation. You look over your cards and encounter the all too familiar half-shrug, half-smile of a winning player.
He throws down his cards, smoothly and reaches for the pot.
A pair of threes?
Well, of course he made his house. Of course he did. You saw his cheek twitch. You saw the sidelong glance to his sizeable stack. You *knew* that last card minted him.
You stack off knowing you are a loser. Awesome. You flex your cards one last time, the king and queen bending to your will, if not the board’s. You fling the cards away.
Attention shifts to the next hand, the new pre-shuffled deck having no memory of your failed top two pair.
The thunder in your brain, the raging beast slamming into the back of your forehead. Its roar pours into your ear canals.
You breathe in deeply, rolling your head from side to side. The motion makes your neck crack. As it does so, a Buddhist gong goes off in your head – you open your eyes and breathe.
“Nice hand”, you say. And you smile.