Chiming in with Teplove and thanks for the drabbles. I've wanted to participate more, and I certainly enjoy reading them.
Monty ,'Trash'
The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Guys, thanks for all the good words. Perfect topic at the perfect time. I didn't even think or revise; it was just there. 45 seconds from topic reading to post, and BAM! Strange how that happens. It's like when you're at home and you twist your hair up randomly and secure it with a pin, and then clean house -- but you see yourself in a mirror and you're like "WTF? My hair looks fuckin' GREAT? Where's the justice?"
Tep, I LOVE the drabbles. It really helps to keep my hand in.
And, Deb -- I can't even imagine WANTING to give my self away, and having mere blood and cells negate that desire. That's hideous.
Can't get this down under 100, but I'm not going to stress about it.
All In.
“The game is no limit hold 'em. The Cadillac of poker.”
I’ve played this game before. I’ve sat at the high rollers table and gone all-in. I remember feeling the gazes of everyone else at the table on me as I walked away from the table, hands in empty pockets.
“I can hardly remember how I built my bankroll, but I can't stop thinking about the way I lost it.”
I made a big play, one that I thought would pay off. I was wrong.
“You can't lose what you don't put in the middle. But you can't win much either.”
Maybe it’s time to start building my bankroll again. I’d like to make it to my personal Vegas and Mirage – the big time. Maybe this time, I’ll get that winning hand.
juliana, whoa...
And, Deb -- I can't even imagine WANTING to give my self away, and having mere blood and cells negate that desire.
Especially when you've already realised - at 18 - that he is never going to love you as much as you love him. Or love you as much as he loves his wife. Who, so far as I know, never offered a kidney.
Damn. 18? That's some pretty big love. I was wishy-washy about lending out my fucking SHOES at that age.
Damn.
Yep.
18?
Yep.
That's some pretty big love.
You think?
I was wishy-washy about lending out my fucking SHOES at that age.
I've never been wishy-washy about anything in this world. Not ever. But especially him.
I have the feeling there are quite a few drabbles brewing on the gambling theme. Interesting to read, interesting to write. The ones already done have been corkers.
Limbo
Just before you died, you borrowed $25K from John, to cover the upcoming surgery. You offered him your piano, said it was all you had left of any value. John loved you. He said, take the money, keep the piano.
You shipped the piano anyway. You must have known your odds for survival were nil.
I want that piano. I want the Hall of Fame to honour your life with it. I'm gambling my peace of mind on this. I'm waiting, stuck in limbo.
What if John's sold it, if it's beyond my reach? What if the dice are loaded?
(Mine contains quotes from Rounders and a direct reference to a Jack McCarthy poem Victor posted in his journal a while ago:
Every time we love we’re saying,
Let it ride
and what’s on the table
is the rent money.
And every time we stride again
out into the crisp desert night
our fists shoved deep into empty pockets
we know ourselves for losers.
But, Jesus,
what brave losers we are.
-- Jack McCarthy
The Rounders quotes started popping into my head as soon as Tep posted the topic.)
Long, sustained applause for the wonderful Tep, and a happy cheer for Perkins! Tep, you did a fabulous job, and I know Perkins will take over the reins with aplomb.
Good drabbles here. I have to get back into it.
Love yours, juliana.
Think I need to do a literal one. ---
misconceptions
We went to see a Hopi reggae band at the Apache casino. Marines, resplendent in their colors, swung across the dance floor with the local girls.
We thought the casino would be full of the elderly white wealthy, blowing their children's inheritances, and the stoic native worker, raking in the cash.
But instead, it was filled with our students, drunk and desperate, and their parents, out losing the groceries. Eyes glazed, unable to envision a better future; the delicately tuned ringing harmonics of the machines creating a pitch just shy of hysteria.
Yeah, they're all getting rich off the casinos.