A Very Close Shave
Imagine it; it’s 2:15 in the morning you’re on the tail end of an 18-hour poker grind, your glass of bourbon long since empty but your pockets are full, lady luck has been kind to you tonight. The gentleman across the table to you not so much, did he say he was a barber? Whatever, you’ve been slow-playing him all night, and his chips and his
patience is almost to the felt; he’s drunk, angry, and ALMOST broke.
Last Call, his deal, you order another bourbon, toss it back and take a peek at your hole card, and lights out. It just wasn’t your night.