You never know when a poker game is going to break out. Monday
night, I'm at Luke's, this bar where I play craps and eat food that is
both bad for you and tasty as hell. B,
a cool guy who talks a lot of
smack and knows that I play poker on a regular basis, calls me out for
some heads-up action. A poker emergency, and, luckily, I was prepared.
I keep a poker chip set in my car, and I busted it out and we cleared a
table and quickly set up for a ten dollar no-limit heads-up game. I
took all of that fucker's money in about fifteen minutes.
The
problem is that they (my bar friends) asked me to play again tonight
(Wednesday), even though I really didn't want to. I mean, I only have
so many waking minutes in a week, and the stories and poems aren't
going to write themselves. But I was asked to play, and I have a hard
time saying no to people. Really, ask me anything; it's sad.
So there we were, playing at J's house. There were four of us, but it wasn't fun at all. One of the guys quickly got drunk, and I hate
doing anything with drunk people, especially poker. I get frustrated
and I can't focus and I stay in way too many hands and I slowly give
away my stacks . I ended up losing money, even though nobody at that
table had more poker training than I do. So now you know: if you want
to take my money playing poker, get really, really drunk.