LYRA
Tonight, I let it all go. The tension, the pain, the fear; I washed it down with a bottle of scotch. Now I was seated at a blackjack table, making my opponents sweat as I held a winning hand and a grin on my lips. I had already won four times in a row and the next one was going to break a record.
The tense and anticipating crowd hung around us, their heart beat resonating with the moment. Every man had put out all they had and it was now that point in the game when you placed all your cards on the table.
The man in red finally broke down. He was obviously not going to win, it seemed. He slapped his cards on the table and grumbled off. The second and the third man did the same. None of them didn’t some faith in themselves apparently.
I and a fellow in black with a Victorian hat o
