Friday, June 18, 2010

The Streak - 92

I don't have an answer for Kyle. Still I'm straining to leave. To exit. Dunno where to. Where from.

Anyway, his bourbon and Coke arrives. Fuck it. I order a Scotch.

I'm dealt the queen of hearts atop the four of clubs. I lean over, stare her in the eyes. She's got a melancholy look. The look of a trapped soul. I imagine that the brutish king tore her from her kindly parents at the age of twelve. He's been fucking her night after night, cursing her for not yet producing an heir. In her left hand she grips a flower. Suddenly a deep crimson spot appears on her bosom. Then another.

"Sir?"

I lift my head.

"Sir?" the dealer says again, frowning.

"Yeah? Oh, sorry. Hit me," I say, pointing at my hand.

"Sir? You're bleeding on the cards."

I put my knuckle to my nose. Feel the blood trickling down to my lip now.

The dealer hands me a stack of cocktail napkins.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, this table is closed," he says, indicating a push on both our hands and removing all the cards, including the bloodied one.

"You OK?" asks Kyle.

"My brain is pouring out my nostrils," I say for whatever reason.

"Let's hit the bar for a while."

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