Game of Chance

 

He drank his morning coffee, and

lit up his second cigarette. No specific

plans for today, like yesterday, pretty

much the same game.

He wasn’t worried about cancer or

death, but rather pondered, would

three packs of weeds last three days

until his son could go shopping for

him again?

This disabled shit was a pathetic

game of chance which time and

a sordid life had forced him to play.

Some say life is a zero sum game

bound to do him in one of these

days anyway.

And Chances? Why hell fire, the

way he saw it, taking chances was

in the hand he was dealt to play

every day.

Go with trips or go for a full house?

Who in hell could say?

By his reckoning and the odds, he

figured his son would come through

for him on Thursday.

If he played his cards right, he was

betting three packs would last him

until then. He snickered at the whole

damn game of chance anyway.

All in, he said sliding his stack of chips

forward while lighting up another cigar-

ette and blowing perfect smoke rings

into the air.

He took a deep breath and had another

sip of coffee.

                  -30-

Chris Hanch 3-18-2021