Hit Me.
There are times when fishermen need to play cards. They just need to. Not Old Maid nor Crazy Eights, but real cards: Poker, and Black Jack.
As the weather provided ample windows for
card-play--large picture-windows, actually--pots of utterly worthless
Canadian smash were assembled to torque up the card-sharking stakes and
faggots of cigs were assembled and laid upon the table to tantalize the
lungs of the three high-rollers.
CAUTON: When an apparent neophyte appears to
have a winning hand, it is best to look deeply into his eyes before folding
your
superior spread. Speaking of a superior
spread...
No, no, no! |
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