poker stories for the soul


Drunk Money

It’s Friday night and it’s late. No, it’s Saturday morning and it’s early. I’m on 2/3 and I’m stuck about $160. I’m fatigued and starting to get hungry, but I just can’t leave this table. There are three drunk players on the table with about $3000 between them. They are decent players, but they are drunk, and sooner or later they’re going to trip up, and that is when I will clean up. The table is going mental with $75 three bets. The guy on my left has a big mess of chips which he continues to refuse to stack.

Sting on my left opens under the gun for $15. Coldplay calls. Scruffy calls. Mel three-bets to $80. Fold around to me. I have QQ. At first this seems a pretty ugly situation for me, with a three-bet from one of two players at the table whose raises are worthy of respect. But then I reconsider, because I realise Mel is thinking, just like me “As soon as I get a hand, I’m going to double up from these lunatics.” I think her range here is 99+. I shove for $240. Fold around. Mel groans and calls for $165. She has TT and gets lucky with a set. Unlucky!

Just then, Suz and Dash run by. Dash has a scarf tied around his head.

“Dash! What the fuck are you doing,” I call out. He turns to me and says “Shhh…” as he runs up the stairs towards the bar. I get up from the table and go up with Dash to the smoking court. He has been banned from the cardroom for 24 hours again. Though I don’t think it makes a lot of difference to him at this point, considering he just lost his entire bankroll.

“What the hell happened man?”

“I’ll tell you… I had a couple of drinks and I was kind of buzzed. I had two Long Island iced teas.”

“You realise those aren’t real Long Island iced teas, right?”

“What, because they’re not from Long Island?”

“Ha, no. A real Long Island iced tea has about seven shots of assorted spirits, and a dash of coke.”

“I’m all about the dash. Of coke. Anyway two drinks and I was buzzed. I was playing PokerPro and it was going well. I had a little stack going. Then this guy cracked my aces… All in pre flop.. With king-deuce. I was so upset, I ran to another table and pressed all in on this guy’s screen. I didn’t press confirm though, and he folded. I saw him fold. But he told the pit-boss that I’d pressed all-in and then confirm – total bullshit.”

I laughed. “You retard.”

He laughed. “Yeah I know.”

“What happened the other night when you got banned for sexual harassment – you still haven’t told me.”

“It was borderline, borderline sexual harassment. I’d just won a $200 pot on 1 / 2. I came up here to have a smoke and I was feeling good – on top of the world. I was feeling so confident. I came down the escalator and saw this cute butt in front of me. I didn’t even see the girl’s face, just her butt. I went up and swung my hand back and made the gesture of slapping her butt. I didn’t actually slap it though. My hand was still at least two inches off.”

As he’s telling me this story, this cute girl that has been checking me out from across the court walks past. “Hey, how’s it going,” I say. “Good!” she says, and walks past. I make the action of slapping her butt.

Dash laughs “Exactly – just like that.”

“I didn’t notice what the girl was wearing, but it turned out she was Crown staff, and the pit-boss came over and said ‘Excuse me sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’ So that was that.”

I come back down to the basement, go to the cage and reload my stack to $175. I post in the cutoff and pick up 45s. It’s a limped pot, about six runners. Flop comes 852. Scruffy bets $15 into $18. Fold around. I call. Turn J. He barrels again for $25. I call. River Q. He barrels again for $55. I consider. He’s not going to make a value bet with a single pair, so he either has a big hand or a shit hand. I quiet my mind and I can smell his fear, tension in the air. At the same time I think, what am I doing – I just reloaded and now I’m calling off my stack with a lousy pair of fives! There’s a moment of doubt. Then I call. He announces: “Ten high…” Fives for the win.

So now I have about $240 sitting in front of me, and I’m in for $500. I pick up KQ on the button. I make it $20 to go. Little China calls from the big blind. Pretty much everyone calls. The pot is about $100. Flop is K84 with two clubs, and I have the king of clubs. I think, this is just about the perfect flop for me, and I am committed. Check around to me. I make a bet around ¾ the pot, $75. Little China check-raises me all in, for another $150 or so. Fold around. My intuition is that there’s not a lot of substance behind his raise. He’d won a huge pot around $700 about half an hour ago, and his stack has been whittled down ever since. I call. He has a flush draw and misses. So now I’m about even.

The very next hand I pick up kings in the cut-off. Sweet. Scruffy opens for $15. Mel folds. Sad Panda three-bets to $45. Sean four-bet shoves for $220. I think, WTF. Sean is a tight-aggressive player. He knows that Scruffy will open wide, but he also must know that Sad Panda isn’t a drunken idiot (though tired and tilted), and probably has a reasonably narrow three-bet range. However, I have the second-nuts and I cannot do anything but move in. Fold around to Panda, who calls. Coldplay says in a drunken English accent: “Roll ’em! Aw c’mon guys you gotta roll ’em innit!” I roll my kings. Sean turns to me and says “I have aces.” I say: “Oh.” Then he turns over ace king. Sad Panda rolls the ace of hearts. Dealer runs it, and fifth street is the six of hearts, completing a three card flush on the board. I look at Panda expectantly. He gazes into the distance with a shell-shocked thousand card stare. The kings are good, and after two hands, I know have more than a month’s rent in front of me. At 7am, the table broke and I cashed out $418 up.


Spitting Chips

You guys should be proud of me. A couple of months ago I moved up stakes to $2/$3. No more micro bullshit. And hardly any old nits. Everybody on $2/$3 at Crown wants action. You can be first to act and make it $30 pre-flop and get two or three callers. The word is, Crown has one of the loosest games in the world. My bankroll is looking better than ever; I’m playing better than ever, and my chances of quitting my day job within a year are looking buenissimo.

I’m in the big blind with pocket threes. There’s a small $10 raise preflop and I call with $450 or so behind. Three runners. The flop comes KQ7, rainbow. I missed and I’m not committed. I check. The preflop raiser, an old groper fish, checks. The button checks behind.

The turn comes a three. I bet out for $30. The Groper calls quickly. The buttons pauses and calls.

The river a repeat seven. I filled up, bottom book. I make it $50, thinking I might get paid off by a a weak king or queen. The Groper doesn’t blink. He raises to $150. The button mucks just as quickly.

I consider it. I think the only hands that beat me here are K7, Q7 and 73. I didn’t even consider kings or queens, which could have been a crucial mistake. The most likely hand is something like 67 or 78. I think this is the best time to maximise against a live one.

“I’m all in,” I say.

Groper stops to think for the first time in the hand. As soon as he does, I know I’m good here. I want a call. Groper has $215 more behind, and I want that money in the middle. He cogitates, procrastinates. He pauses again – then he ums and ahs. I call “Time,” and the dealer calls the floor manager.

I haven’t seen this floor manager before. He’s late forties to early fifties, and seems to be in a constant hurry. He starts counting down, and before we realise, he says “Twenty seconds.”

“What? Twenty seconds is all I have?” says the Groper in a Polish accent.

“How long do you need! I’ve been here two minutes already!” says the floorman.

“I didn’t know the staff were allowed to needle the patrons,” I said.

“Sure – it gets the next buy-in on the table quicker.”

“Ah… Then, thanks I guess.”

“Uh… buh uh… I call,” says the Groper.

“Treys full… threes full of sevens.” My hand shakes a little and I struggle to turn over my cards. I’m a little relieved that they are the same cards I remember.

The Groper nods and then shakes his head. He had KQ and flopped top two – slowplayed to death.

“If it makes any difference,” says the floorman. “He had you pre-flop.” And he marches off. Burn.

A couple of hands later I lobby and go to the bathroom. I look at the colour of my pee and make a mental note to drink more water. A cleaner starts wiping out the urinal to my right. Damn, it’s really uncomfortable to pee while someone is cleaning the urinal. But then, I know what’s more uncomfortable. Having a job where you need to clean urinals.


Low Stakes Poker

Crown Casino is filled with hustlers and punters, glam girls and the occasional rail bird. Late at night, rich Vietnamese women are running around to talk to other Viets. They’re trying to sell a $10 000 ring for $3 000, to put the money on a baccarat table, and win their original stake back so their husbands don’t kill them. Down in the basement, there’s the cardroom. At the far end, there are high stakes tables. $5/$10 no limit hold ’em. $2/$2 pot limit Omaha. In the middle, there are the grinder’s limits. $2/$3 no limit, $1/$2 no limit. On the near end, there’s the low limits, and there’s me, Jones Brixton. I’m playing on the $0.50/$1 electronic PokerPro tables, trying to establish a bankroll enough to move up to the grinder’s limits.

On my left is a congenial fellow, maybe at one stage he was a regular, because he asks Mandy: “Where is your friend Israel?”

“He went back to Israel.”

“Oh, right.”

His name on the screen is Kenks.

To his left, is a sexy brunette, wearing blue jeans and a plain white T. If I looked at her objectively, I might think there is nothing special about her. Her mouth is too big. When she smiles, it reveals a little too much gum. Her nose is slightly crooked. But there is something about her. She has a tight body and a pleasant face. I’m fascinated. Her name on the screen is K-Fresh.

I make a squeeze for eight and a half big blinds, from the small blind. Kenks folds.

K-Fresh looks at me, then her cards, then me again. I put both of my thumbs up and give her a big cheesy grin. She smiles. She folds. The kid on the end hits top pair jacks and I stack him with queens.

“K-Fresh? Is that your real name?”

“What can I say, that’s how I roll.”

She threw up her set, some random arrangement of fingers.

“Throw up yo set. Go like this,” I said, my thumb pushed to my ring finger, with my index, middle and pinkie extended. She complied.

“Hell yeah. Two in the pink, one in the stink.”

“What??? That’s disgusting – how could you make me do that!??”

“Just needed to know if you were into it.”

An Aussie drunk waltzed over and asked if he could sit. “Ah. That one is broken my friend.” He stumbled off.

“We should make room for him,” said Samuel. “He looks profitable.”

“You want to kick off the nits and bring in the drunks, huh?”

I got up to go to the toilet, and when I came back I tried to insert my card to log into my terminal, but it was obstinate.

“You should come sit next to me,” said K-Fresh

“I’d have to log out first.”

I sat there inserting it and removing it until it worked. “In and out,” she said.

“Right on.” I said. She giggled.

“Damn, how come everything I say or do gets turned into something dirty.” She laughed.

Kenks was sitting on $130, more than doubled up. K-Fresh lost her stack of $20 to him when he flopped two pair.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Kenks.

“What? Already?”

“I just took your stack. That means it’s time to go.”

As she stood up next to me, I could see her white shirt revealing the bottom of a tight belly, and a straight scar. It appeared to be indicative of a Caesarian section. I shook K-Fresh’s hand, grappled it and clicked my fingers.

“Whoa… That is too gangster for me. Bye,” she smiled.

I shook hands with Kenks and they left.

“Are they friends of yours?” said Boriska.

“Nah, I just met them tonight… The girl is hot.”

“She is – she’s gorgeous. A lot of girls that come in here are very blonde, bleached blonde. False, sequined messes. She’s different – there’s something very intriguing about her.”

“I agree.”

“Though I’m not sure if it’s the best way for a relationship, to take your girlfriend to a poker table.”

“I don’t think that was her boyfriend. She was flirting with me in front of him.” Should have asked. Should have gotten her number.

A voice rang out from two tables away: “LISTEN, YOU FUCK!”

I jumped up immediately to my feet. The drunk from before was swinging at a Lebanese, about to do the same hugging dance that boxers do when they get too close. A surge of adrenalin rushed through my veins. My first instinct was to take responsibility, to run over and grab one of them to separate them. I was afraid. Instead I yelled out “SECURITY!!!”

Five Agent Smiths filled the space. They escorted the drunk out as he said to his girlfriend “I got him a good one!” Neither of them were even bleeding, which I thought was odd considering how hard they’d come to blows.

I guess it was some dispute over a twenty dollar pot. I called to Samuel, “Aren’t you glad now, that he didn’t sit at our table?”

In walks 105 kg of Irish man-meat. They call him the Can Crusher. He’s roughly 28 years old, 25 kg overweight, boisterous, and whenever I see him, drunk.

He bought me a drink “I’m up $2500 on 2-3.”

“Are you serious? Do you play the same way there as you do here?”

“Yep hahaha. My favourite play I ever made was when this guy pushed all in preflop, and I called with absolute shit. When the entire board was dealt, neither of us had connected. I talked so much that I convinced him I had him, and he mucked. It was about a $250 pot.”

I laughed “You son of a bitch!”

“Hey Crusher, what happened to your hand?” I noticed the bandage.

“This kid in Perth came up to me and asked me for a cigarette. I refused, and he stabbed me.”

“The kid asked you for a cigarette, and then stabbed you?”

“With a ballpoint pen. He didn’t exactly ask. He just demanded: give me a cigarette. I said no, and he launched. Have a look.”

He took off the bandage to reveal three or four stitches. It looked like it had been a deep wound. Damn.

“Yeah. I thought about rubbing the blood in the little bastard’s face but nah. I left him in pretty bad shape. In a storm drain somewhere.”

“Are you serious?” said the 19 year old at the end of the table.

“Nah,” said Crusher, and then turned to me. “But seriously, that kid will probably spend the rest of his life with mental retardation. I left him in a storm drain somewhere.”

“Didn’t the police have anything to say about this?”

“I didn’t tell the police.”

“Didn’t the medical staff at the hospital have something to say about this?”

“They didn’t ask any questions. It’s fine. Plus, the hospital is free. What do you call it, Centrelink paid for me.”


“Medicare paid for it.”

“Are you an Australian citizen?”


“Are you a permanent resident?”


“Then how can you get Medicare?”

“I have it – I didn’t say it was mine, but I have it.”

That night, I finished down $100, plus the extra $40 that Crusher staked me. The drinks guy came around and I offered to buy Crusher another drink.

“No thanks,” he said as he downed the last quarter of his pint. “I’m driving.”


Our Hero, Hero Calling

I roll up with my chip tray and sit down in seat seven on a $2/$3 table at Crown. I have to wait one hand for the button to pass. Baldy raises the hijack to $15. The small blind calls, an Asian dude, possibly a grinder. Flop comes K74, rainbow. Grinder checks, Baldy barrels. Grinder checks, Baldy barrels. Grinder checks, Baldy barrels, Grinder raises the river and it’s about $100 more to call. Baldy looks discomfited, and it’s obvious he has to fold.

I post after the button. Limp around, Baldy limps. I have KQo in the cutoff. I pause and consider whether or not I should raise, possibly subjecting myself to first hand fever. I’m in position so I figure why not. I make it $20. Fold around, Baldy calls. I’m acutely aware of how the previous hand is going to affect this one. Limp-call $20 in middle position definitely looks like a tilt call.

Flop comes ragged, 863 all hearts. Baldy checks. I have the queen of hearts. Perfect scenario for a semi-bluff continuation bet. I make it $30. Baldy calls. Turn is a blank, five of spades. Baldy checks. I consider double barreling, however I figure if he really has tilt-called me preflop, he might have hit that ragged board and there would be no way he would fold a pair on the turn in his current state. So I check. The river is a deuce of clubs, but it changes things because Baldy shoves for $60 into $100.

It wouldn’t make sense for him to bet like this if he had a pair. I didn’t even consider that he might have flopped a set or a flush – that would be too small a part of his range here. My only deduction is that he called me on the flop with a heart and missed. I call.

“Good call mate,” he says and rolls over… KcQs. I laugh and split the pot.

“You call with king high there?” says the Canadian.

“Of course I do.”

“First hand too – you must have had some kind of read on him.”

The Canadian made kind of a big deal out of it, but I guess nobody noticed, because they just kept bluffing me… and I kept calling.


We Have A Regular Game

Every week or so, we have a regular home game at Diefendorf’s or Ruchstashel’s place. Though Dief hasn’t really played much, ever since that night when I made it $6 preflop with seven-deuce. He flopped a pair of kings with top-pair-top-kicker, and I flopped two pair, sevens and deuces. It must have been a $160 pot. Getting beaten and outplayed is one thing, but getting beaten with the hand that has the least playability of all hands in hold ’em is another. Everyone shipped me a dollar for the side-bet, and Dief went on tilt for a month.

Last night, I went by the Inselligence building in Richmond, to get a lift with Vasily to the game. He’d recruited one of his new salespeople to come to the game. It was 8:00. Our game started at 8:30, and as always, Vasily decided to get in early with the trash-talking.

“Don’t mind this guy – he’s just some fish I picked up. He’ll probably call you to the river with bottom pair.”



“Don’t mind what he says, I think I’ll beat Vasily flat tonight. He’s been talking that shit all day.”

“I’ll bet he has – you hear that Vasily? He’s going to beat you flat.”

“He can beat me flat, and I’ll beat him standing, sitting, or doing a hand-stand. Noob.”

“Hey, be nice to the fish,” I laughed.

We all piled into the car.

“How long have you been playing poker Venizio?”

“About two years. How about you?”

“About a year.”

“Actually I haven’t been playing that long. I play about once a month or so. Maybe once every three months. Really, I hardly play at all. This is my first serious game really, ever. I thought about going and meeting a girl tonight but then I thought nah, I love poker too much.”

“You know what I’m going to do to you tonight?” said Vasily to me. “I’m going to call you all the way to the river with the best hand, and then when I shove, you’ll think it’s a bluff and be forced to call.” He’s making a reference to a hand that cost him $100, when we were playing heads-up. I slowplayed aces, while he kept betting with middle pair. On the river, I made a set, and he made aces-up. I shoved for another $40 into a $145 pot. He tanked, and I made myself look nervous. “You called me all the way with that flush draw didn’t you?” I looked up, looked him straight in the eye, and smiled.

“Hello Jones.”

“Hello Vasily.”

“…I call.”

“You just can’t beat luck,” he said after the hand, and I repeated to him over and over to taunt him. I think he knows deep down that I outplayed him. It sent him on tilt for the rest of the night. It’s a sick game.

“You know what I’m going to do to you tonight?” said Baltrus to Vasily. “I’m going to push a massive hand all-in early on, and you’ll call, thinking it’s a bluff. Then later, when I have air, I’ll do the same move and you’ll have to fold.” Baltrus let out a belly laugh.

“I love these home games,” I laughed.

When we got to Ruch’s place, no one was home. Vasily and Baltrus kicked off the action by doing $20 Omaha flips on the porch.

“What are they playing?” said Venizio.

“They’re playing Omaha, but with only one betting round.”

“So there’s no skill involved then? Why don’t they just play for high card?”

“Of course there’s skill involved,” said Vasily. “You have to squeeze the best. Whoever can squeeze the best cards, wins.”

Baltrus touched his cards lightly to reveal his final hole card, the queen of diamonds. I looked at the board. It made nothing.

“That’s so sick,” said Vasily. I looked his cards. His final card made jack-high, and Baltrus had just squeezed queen-high. Baltrus chuckled.

“So remind me again, how do you play poker?” said Venizio.

“It’s like this,” said Vasily. “If you get four-of-a-kind, you should be really worried about the strength of your hand.”

Baltrus chimed in: “Yeah, and if you suspect your opponent has a full house, you should drop that four-of-a-kind as quick as you can. My four-of-a-kinds always get sucked out on by full books.”

“Then if you have a pair, you should move all-in. If you think someone else at the table has a pair, you’re in big trouble.”

“Yeah, Baltrus and Vasily always get called by a single pair on the river and they go on tilt.” I said.

After half an hour, Ruch arrived and we got down to playing.

One hand, I was in middle position. I limped in on Baltrus’s straddle. He made it $8, Vasily called. I made it $18. Baltrus shoved and I called.

“You got pockets?” said Vasily.

“Yeah, I’ve got something.”

“Jacks then. How many times do you want to run it?”

“Run it once.” Baltrus agreed. Vasily dealt the flop. All diamonds, queen-high. I had the ace of diamonds. When the whole board was run, Baltrus said “You win.” Which probably meant he didn’t hit a single thing. Even if he had ace-high, he’d wait for me to show first before he mucked, just on the off-chance that I had king jack of spades. He probably had three six off-suit or some crap, just playing it in the hopes that he would hit two pair, or that I would fold ace jack off-suit preflop. Or he just wanted to thoroughly establish, once again, and beyond all doubt, his table image. What a sickbox. I showed aces and took the pot.

All through the night Venizio kept receiving texts from this girl.

“I feel like such an asshole because I said I’d meet her tonight. What can I say to her? I don’t like her that much.”

I said “If you don’t like her that much, you don’t even have to reply. Who gives a shit. Girls do that stuff all the time.” A ridiculous rationalisation. I was just trying to get him to shut up so we can play cards.

“Actually, well it’s not that I like her.”

“You seem to be putting a lot of thought into a girl who you don’t want to have sex with,” said Baltrus.

“Well, I do like her. It’s not that I don’t like her.”

“How old is this girl?”

“She’s eighteen this year. And I’m twenty-one this year.”

“Right,” I said. “So she’s seventeen and you’re twenty.”

“Yep.” I was amused that he didn’t seem to see any flaws with the way he’d presented this information.

“I mean, this girl. She’s seventeen and she’s a virgin. And she basically said to me that she wanted me to take her virginity. She’s basically going all-in on the virginity card. And I am folding my dick to her.”

“Sounds like you’re just toying around with the pot.”

“Well… yeah.”

I ground it out for a couple of hours, and picked up $100 or so from a $50 buy-in. Then I lost most of it when Vasily out-played me on the flop.

The game broke up at 1 am. Ruch had lost his second buy-in at around 11:30, and his girlfriend was lying on the couch not feeling so hot. In the end, I was up $10. Vasily was up $400 $540 [Ed: “I was up $540, not $400.” “Oh, I’m sorry I missed that vital plot point.”] and The Boy Wonder Venizio won $100 or so. Baltrus was stuck $500.

On the last hand, Baltrus had straddled $10. This is a $0.50/$1 game, and that’s a big bet to make before you even know what you’re betting on.

“Why do you have to do that on the last hand of the night?” I whined.

Vasily called, I folded, Venizio folded. Baltrus shoved for $180. Vasily thought about it for about two seconds and called. He had king-ten of clubs. King-high held up.

“I knew when you straddled $10 you were going to shove no matter what. So I figured I was in pretty good shape there.”

“Yeah yeah… nice hand,” said Baltrus. “I can’t believe I run so bad. How do I get so card-dead?”

It was still early. I thought about going to the casino. I bid my fellows “Good game,” and hopped into a taxi straight to Bimbo Deluxe Restaurant and Nightclub.

I walked inside, said hi to a blonde on the stairs, and took a most righteous dump.

“Athlete!” someone called at me while I was drying my hands. It was my friend Theophonus, drunk as I normally see him at the casino. He was there with his friends. I shook his hand and said what’s up. We stood outside the bathroom for a second chatting.

“We’ll just wait here for a second. My girlfriend is in the bathroom.”

“Ah. So that’s why we’re standing outside the girls’ bathroom – it’s not because we’re perverts.”

A blonde wearing black on white polka dots, also waiting by the bathroom, heard me and smiled at me. I fonzied at her.

I went downstairs and met Theophonus’s friends and girlfriend.

I shook hands with Art. “Oh man. I was playing a $70 sit an’ go today… Final table – shoved with kings preflop. He calls with pocket deuces. Two deuces on the flop. How sick is that.”

Oh gosh, another bad beat story. Forgetting to excuse myself, I grabbed the nearest girl and started twirling her. I talked to her for a minute, then she disappeared. Walked back to Theo and the guys.

“Was that your girlfriend you were dancing with before?” said Art.

“No, just some girl I thought needed to dance.”

He laughed. “Brilliant!”

Theo said he was heading off, and said I should hang out with the guys. I sat down with Art on my left, his friend Pinch to his left, and their female friend Aneka to my right. She doesn’t really fit in here, but that’s okay.

I introduced myself to Pinch, and he said:

“You’re gay with Theophonus aren’t you?”

I laughed, heartily.

“You’re Theo’s lover, right?”

I laughed, politely.

“Because you know Theo is gay, don’t you?”

I snorted.

“You’re gay, right?”

“Yeah, I love sucking dick.”

“Whoa, too much information.”

I turned to Art. “Hey Art, why is your friend acting so weird?”

Aneka is sitting there, and he’s trying to act cool in front of her. Welcome to grade two. I’m not mad, but this is the dumbest thing I’ve seen in a while. I ignore him, and talk to Aneka instead.

“Are you gay?” says Aneka.

“Yeah I’m gay. I can be your gay best friend. I can be your girlfriend.”

“Awesome! I need a new gay best friend. I used to have one, but he moved away. I used to jump up on him and wrap my legs around him.”

“Every girl needs a gay best friend. In my hometown, I think there was only one gay man in the entire town, so every girl had to share him. Anyway, the moral of the story is: I’m not gay.”

“Great! We can still be friends though.”

In a few minutes I was getting her phone number.

“Anyway I’m going to go home.”

“Oh okay. I’ll add you on Facebook. Do you have Facebook? I’ll text you. I’ll call you. We can go to the Lower Plenty Hotel and have drinks.”

“Cool. Text me.”

Then I walked home and met a drunk guy who owns a video game company.

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