Darius let the cards fall through his fingers, watching them scatter over polished woodgrain. Around the table were the remnants of the game, empty glasses, stacks of abandoned chips, the cards. He sat back, contemplating the clean-up tasks ahead before he could find his way back home and to bed.
He used to be energized coming out of a game, adrenaline sparking, and ready to find some fun. Now he was only exhausted.
George clomped back in after having seen everyone out.
“You don’t look like a man who just wiped out the room,” George said, sideburns thick in an outdated style and curling hair a mess on his head. He shifted chairs under the table, beginning the tidy up. Darius felt a mild spike of guilt for letting his business partner do all the work, but stayed seated nonetheless.
“I didn’t wipe them out,” he said. “They left with the shirts on their backs and enough in their pockets to remain presentable.”
“You could’ve though. If you’d wanted.”
Darius shrugged. Probably. It hadn’t been a tough game and none of the opponents were a challenge. They rarely were these days. He pulled the cards towards him, forming the deck with practiced fingers. Sometimes it surprised him so many still came to his games, yet he never was short of willing players, and they always brought money to lose.
“That kid tonight,” he said, shuffling the cards while George stacked chips into their box. “The young one. He couldn’t have...