
Life
is like a game of poker, all about the bluffing. At this very moment a group of
people sit down to a game of poker. Whether they sit around a dining room table
on Wisteria lane, the old kitchen table at their granny’s home or in a dank
cellar of a brothel they all play the same game. They smile to their play mate,
pull out their chair and sit down confidently, gulping their drink in case the
liquid gets trapped in their tight throats.

At a rickety table in the back-ass of nowhere a family sit around a table; they drink tea and play a ‘friendly’ game of poker. The beloved son bluffs his way through to the end, but his sneaky smile is a give away the others know all too well. His ends in tragedy.
The smell of tobacco and cheap gin fills the grim room of the tavern cellar; the scurrying of rats can be heard by the four men as each sits around the keg of beer. They stare through each other, waiting for one to cave under the pressure. A gun is pulled, a struggle ensues and Mr Unfortunate goes home to tell his wife they are moving house the following morning.
Yes, poker is a game of deceit and trickery; one man bluffs his way to the end with a dead hand and the guy with the two aces has pulled out long ago; It is a game where one person wishes for more and the other is happy with their set of four.

Until someone overdoses from their tea and the others realise the white stuff floating on its surface wasn’t lime scale from the kettle.
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