Fresh air rarely found its way into the dense atmosphere of Dickens’ Billiards Hall. Cigar and pipe smoke competed with low-slung oil lamps dropping light over each table. Conversation flowed, less rowdy than pub-talk, just as consumed by current affairs, gossip, and solutions to the problems of the world.
Drew slipped in past the doorman into the main room of spectators, players, and staff. Tables stood in two straight lines down the middle of the room. Some empty and quiet—it was only mid-afternoon—others ringed by men with rolled-up sleeves, suspenders, and caps sitting c**k-eyed over intense faces. The game was all important. Flow. Strategy. Technique. Concentration overruled conversation.
Behind the players stood the waiters—chatty, expressive as they caught up on all the news, and
