Sunday, November 21, 2010

Quiet weekend.

I've often complained about some of the banal drivel I've had to write while wearing the corporate communications hat, but I envy whoever in the local Petco had the privilege of drafting the neatly typeset notice that announces "Our frozen rodents have been relocated."
Tertius approaches me with a pack of cards and invites me to pick one. The nine of hearts. I memorize it, then slide it back into the deck. He shuffles through, produces a card, and asks me if it's mine. It is indeed. And I choose not to mention that I know he owns a trick deck in which the nine of hearts is, shall we say, overrepresented.

Later, he insists that I play "Go Fish" with him. He solemnly deals out seven cards. I look at them. They're all the nine of hearts. "Got any nines?" he shouts gleefully, getting in just ahead of me.

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