Words
American Monte
There was no memory of where I’d been, only the bittersweet remains of bourbon still stinging between my teeth. I was lost, slithering over a cracked and crumbling sidewalk, the bed of atrophy on which I fell asleep after the whiskey knocked me down.
I awoke, bleeding from the cheek and brow, gravel and grit burrowed beneath my pallid skin. Rising to support on hand and hip, crimson drops painted the pavement, a second coat on previous stains. Apparently, not the first to fall there.
My eyes strained to trace a russet trail leading to the street, where, just before the curb, a man sat: shoes shined, hair coiffed, suit pressed, his tie blue with white stars. He was perched upon a golden stool. Had he seen me fall? He’d watched me sleep.
“Place your bet”, he said, no hint of expression or concern for my state. It was a command, not an invitation. No patience for my confusion, he repeated it, louder this time but as flat as the first. I showed my pockets were empty. He shifted his weight with annoyance.
“There’s a nickel right there”, he barked with a nod toward my knee. So I slid the coin grinding across the rough concrete, the ringing scrape an abrasion straight through my aching body. I was still unaware of what game I’d be playing. Maybe it would distract from my injuries.
“Pick a card”, he demanded, his eyes locked on mine. He could tell I had no clue where they were. “Pick a card!”, he yelled, “Pick a card! PICK A CARD!” And he violently pointed to three angel-backed bicycles lying near the unscuffed soles of his black patent shoes.
As I stretched for a card, every muscle within me ached. Half-way there I heard him say “Find the heart”, and I paused, suddenly wondering if this was a puzzle that could be solved. Just when I had accepted randomness as fact, he leapt and stomped my head to the ground.
I awoke, once again, on the sidewalk and could see the man a few feet away on his golden stool, shoes reshined, with another man on the ground in front of him. I raised my face to the street, searching for a witness, but all I found were three blood-soaked clubs.