The Devil’s Playground
Friday night regulars, they met to drink, play cards and see how much of each other’s payday they could steal.
“Does it help?” Malachi asked flipping a card toward Tyrone.
Tyrone’s gnarled finger directed it to rest on top of his other cards. He sighed.
“Naw man. Ain’t nothing helpin my luck, tonight,” he pushed back his chair and took the last drag off his cigarette as it burned into the filter.
“Hey, you leavin?”