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#1
01-31-2005, 11:07 PM
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Playing dice on the street corner... a true story.
I'm 19 and it's 11pm on a Sunday evening, auspicious beginnings for the greatest gambling night of my life, I'm sure you'll agree.
My friend and I, we'll call him "Kyle" and myself "Zak" (mostly because those are our actual names) are at his place. We've played some poker and backgammon for small stakes and I'm about to take a couple city busses home when I pause and turn to him. "Wait!", I exclaim. "I will not go." So I decide to stay at his place for the night. His mom is out of town so we raid her meagre supply of liquer and find some vodka which we take with us on a walk around the neighbourhood. After a half hour of meandering around the silent city streets we decided to call up an old friend, Julia Bentley. Searching our pockets for change we come up with a looney and I dial the number I had memorized. A call is a quarter and I'm confidant I'll get change. Instead of Julia Bentley, I get an answering machine for the Breast Screening Clinic, and no change. So there we stood, on the dirty street corner of a dirty street, looking like idiots, and feeling like chumps, when along walked the Gambloor. "Yo. You brothas got a smoke?" He inquired. Kyle answered in the affirmative and we requested a quarter for the telephone. Request denied. As he walked off I had the sense of mind to shout "Hey. Do you Gamble?". He turned around and eyed us with the eyes of a Playah and I knew who he was. Not as a person, for we had not met. But he and I were one for that moment. We were players, and this was a game. I knew him as I know myself. "Yeah I gamble" he replied, cautious to not show his anxiety. To not let that feeling in the pit of his stomache out. "Cards?" asked I, intent on a game of hold'em. "Dice" he replied. Foreign territory. Now I believe heavily in predestination. Not that I think there is a purpose or some driving pattern, but merely that everything will be, and there's not too much we can do it about. As fate would have it, Kyle, that night had brought with him a normal die, and a doubling die. The doubling die has 2, 4, 8, 16, 32 and 64 on it instead of 1 to 6 but still has six sides. So he produced the dice and the game was on. We played five dollars to start. I rolled and he rolled, again and again. I won, he won, I lost, he lost. The game was on, and I was alive. You could see, from the fire in his eyes, that he lived for these moments as well. Eventually the question came, as inevitable as that 00 on a roulette table. "Yo mon. Let's up the stakes." I deferred, and here Kyle makes his fateful entrance with a single word. "Ok." And so the threw, for twenty a shot. But this game was rowboat by an Old Man in the Sea. This game was the soaring descent of an eagle, the violent climax of love making. This game was massacre. The rolls came fast. The game is simple. You roll a seven or an eleven and then your opponent has to roll the same or you win. Doubles you re roll, anything else you pass. Quick the came, 31, 42, 53 and then Kyle threw his 43. His opponent looked at the dice, cupped them, and BAM came the 52 to answer. Up the stakes went again. First roll Kyle threw down a seven. His opponent does not answer. "Again. $40." came the cry. Full frenzy in his mind. The fire in his eyes spread. First roll. A seven. A ten to answer. "Again. $80." Sweat poured, it's scent screamed IMustGetEvenIMustWin. Three rolls this time. Again Kyles seven came unanswered. Panic was evident in The Gamblers face. His phone rang, and he talked while they threw, for $100 this time. Bits and pieces were heard. "No mon... playing dice. Loosing big." Again bits and pieces "no man, not brothers. Whities." And then a more frigtening sound byte "Wellington and Grand Ave. Come mon." Kyle, entranced by the game, in full absorbtion with the gamble, was not really capable of making use of this rather pertinent piece of information, but the last thing I wanted to do was meet up with whoever The Gambloor was talking to, and especially not his friends (some of who may not have a christian name but rather a calibre). And so, pulling Kyle away, we walk. The Gambloor followed, anxious to win his money back. After several blocks of twists and turns, watching to make sure directions were not given we stopped again. Wallets were pulled back out, pockets were emptied, and the game was back on. Another roll, another loss. Another roll, another loss. And then the fifties stopped flowing down like rain, to be replaced by a smaller flow of twenties when we reached the pivotal point. The last roll. Kyle rolled first. Another seven. The gambloor stood entranced, staring at the dice, willing them with his mind, his soul. The roll came in that madding way, slow as desperation, screaming out with each bounce. Time slowed and stopped and swirled around us as they bounced again, our eyes on their every movement. A 6 becomes a 4, than a 5 the one. And they rested. A 5 and a 3. 8. Nothing. Defeat. His eyes cast down, his shoulders slouched, we all collectively began to breathe. Handshakes were given and a getaway was had. The tension surrounding us fell away, and as he left, we understood eachother perfectly. Euphoria came, yes, but in a sad sort of way it was dull compared to the risk of the throw. A poor substitute of the high of danger. And as he left with is tail between his legs and that hangdog look I did not pity him. He may not have won. But he lived. 
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#3
02-01-2005, 06:21 AM
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Re: Playing dice on the street corner... a true story.
It's other gambling. Should I have put "Dirty Street Corner... Trip Report" as the title?
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#4
02-01-2005, 07:57 AM
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Re: Playing dice on the street corner... a true story.
I liked it. Routine story, exciting style.
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#10
02-03-2005, 11:30 AM
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Re: Playing dice on the street corner... a true story.
Around $450. Later that night, through backgammon, dice, and poker, I won about $200 off of him, and we took the money and bought enough liquer to stock a bar.
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