The day starts early with yard chores — mowing and weeding and trimming.
Three hours later with a giant trash can filled with weeds and juniper trimmings, it’s time to hit the showers.
And then maybe explore a little.
Our adventure takes us to a neighborhood joint where we stop for a late lunch. At this hour of the day, the buffet is ambivalent — there’s still scrambled eggs and waffles out for late-risers but there’s also prime rib, carved turkey and mashed potatoes.
I opt for the later. And a spinach salad. And some fresh melon for dessert. And a slice of Boston cream pie with a half-cup of decaf.
Veronica from El Salvador is my server and she does a superb job.
Sated, I go for a little walk and toast a decent cigar. Stop to watch the craps table. It is packed and some guy with a rack full of black and green chip is chirping about starting with $5.
I’ve heard stranger stories. The boxman is watching the game intently, and there’s a pit boss behind him. He’s on the phone, presumably to the eye-in-the sky, to check in. He has the look on his face of a man whose game is down maybe four or five dimes.
I stop to watch for a moment. The point is four and the table is cheering for a four. An Asian-American guy tosses the dice and the dealers call “four.” Hard four, in fact.
The table cheers. Sheesh.
“I started this game with $5,” the guy chirps again.
But I saunter away, enjoying the cigar.
I’m on the list for a limit poker game and I stop to watch the action. But the line-up looks suspect — hard cores and regulars, not the kind of players who easily part with their hard-earned dinero.
There’s more than half of a cigar left so I walk a little more, taking in the sights and listening to the warble of slot machines and the clatter of chips on the table games.
My walk takes me back to the poker game. One of the regulars is leaving and a couple of new players are sitting down. The situation looks more promising now, and I invest in some chips and join this motley crew.
To my great delight, there are two young guys who are slightly inebriated. And they have chips.
One of my favorite dealers, Joe, is in the box. Joe is older, easily in his 70s, tells stories, presumably true, of playing in the World Series of Poker, and his name badge reminds people he is from Rome, Ga.
We go a few rounds, I lose one hand with second pair, and win one hand with top two pair when one of the young men misses an obvious flush draw.
“I’ve had three chances at a flush and missed all three,” he laments, displaying an misunderstanding of the math behind flush draws.
One of the young men mentions to Joe that he’s old.
“You bet, I’m old,” he replies tersely. “If you’re lucky, some day you’ll be old, too.”
We play a few more rounds. I glance at my watch, reminding myself that I’m not here for the duration and that I plan to be home at a reasonable hour.
We play a few more laps when an interesting hand comes up: One of the young men raises from early position and gets a slew of callers. From late position, I peer down to see Qh-Jh staring me in the face. While normally not the kind of hand to call two bets cold, this is not a normal situation. I call and we see the flop six-handed.
It comes down 10x-9x-3h. Not a great flop but one with considerable potential, an open-ended straight draw and a back door flush draw. I’m thinking even my overcards could be good if the initial raiser had A-K.
The young man leads out, is called all around and when it’s back to me, I make it two bets to go. Might as well maximize my potential in case Lady Luck smiles in my direction.
Bill from Michigan is in the box now. He burns and turns the heart seven falls. Not a great card, but not a bad card either since I’ve picked up a flush draw with my straight draw.
The young man in early position checks and it’s checked around to me. This is a close play; I can pop it again and put more money in the pot. Or I can lie back and wait and see what fifth street brings.
I elect to wait and rap the table.
Bill from Michigan burns and turns one more time — and the heart eight falls.
Yahtzee.
It’s checked through the first few positions and one of the more skilled (and devious) players leads out. He’s quickly called, then the guy in front of me folds. Hmmm.
I’m not holding the nuts; in fact I have third nuts and Kh-xh is more than likely.
I call.
The first bettor doesn’t either bother showing, flicking his cards in the muck, a failed attempt at a steal gone awry.
The second guy turns up J-9 offsuit for a straight.
Whew.
I table my Qh-Jh, and a woman in the 10 street calls my hand — “queen high straight.”
Bill from Michigan is on the job, however, and calmly declares a flush.
“Oh,” the woman says, “I thought that was the jack of diamonds.”
Bill from Michigan laughs curtly.
“The only reason I knew he had a flush is because he turned up two hearts,” he says, eliciting some laughter.
But he pushes me the pot and that’s the important thing and I flip him a modest toke.
The two young men are looking for the cocktail server and mumbling about going to look for a no-limit game.
That sounds like a disastrous idea for them and a wonderful idea for some no-limit players.
I look at a few more hands, but when the blinds hit, I rack up a decent win and hit the door.
“Did you have fun?” the woman at the desk asks. They seem to be promoting this room as a “fun” place to play.
“I had a blast,” I say.
And head for the house.
