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.

Damn, Liese. Wow.

Juliana, so happy you liked that Jack McCarthy poem. He really is one of my favorites.

Juliana, so happy you liked that Jack McCarthy poem. He really is one of my favorites.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose up the first time I read it. That's some damn good writing there. Thank you for posting it.

Leise, damn.

Liese, you always kill me.

Thanks, guys. I think it's just the subject matter I tend to have. That, and all the latent bitter! Heh.