Poker Guy

Last night didn’t result in any unnecessary entanglements or pitfalls, though “very drunk” ended up on the docket. Barney’s Beanery on me capped the night off, Irish Nachos style.
He was already wasted when we met, borderline useless with sane analysis, yet hilarious with his perfectly timed wisecracks. The Detonator will remain here until the weekend, meaning the fall of human civilization isn’t far from fruition.

Tonight, on the other hand, a different beast surfaces. Every Wednesday at 9:30pm, like Swiss clockwork, is the Echo Park Poker Tour. Hosted by homeboy Lance, it’s frequented by a variety of twisted personalities, most of which are crucial to callously chucking cash into the pot, and the few who strike fear in all those lacking readiness and foresight. I unfortunately committed to go after Lance questioned my manhood on Saturday.

I’ve resourcefully avoided poker confrontations the last couple weeks, mostly because of common appearances by Poker Guy. You can sometimes see the apparition of Poker Guy in the shadows late at night, worse is in the flesh on poker night. Rightly so, being pragmatic dictates that throwing my money away when he plays is boneheaded, so every now and then I skip out, knowing in my heart better things are happening and that money is better spent.

I still manage to bump into him at group events, and seriously, every time he sees me, Poker Guy starts asking everyone if they want to play poker. On that rare occasion he’ll garner interest, a guarantee when the men outnumber women, the game will commence and the odds usually fall in his favor.
His game is respectable, often relying on cunning remarks to garner tells from opponents. By occasionally pushing the boundaries of good taste and tactfulness, he can cause people to drift from their game, lose their edge, lose their dollars faster. You don't have to like it, but it works.

Admittedly, an excellent reason to go is the regular appearance of Catrina, a skilled poker player in her own right, one who often finishes in the money. The ease of her relaxed radiance shifts gravity in ways never witnessed before, rather notorious for fumbles caused. I must find out if she ditched that loser from the other night, if she's finally decided to join the winning team.

Anywhere from 12 to 30 will show for the $20 buy-in, which the top three finishers divvy up at the conclusion of the tourney.

To get my edge and lose excess ego from my head, Roxie is cutting my hair in two hours, and hopefully my trust will not be betrayed.