Ripped To Shreds By Joe Hakim

It's on the back of a bad night -one of the fuckin' worst -the dealers are new, unprepared, and the players are mean tonight, the hunger making them jump on the weak fresh meat. (Insert terrible lion and wildebeest metaphor here.)

There's this one girl, only been dealing for a couple of days -the spotlight and the shaking hands -the cruel tricks of the brain under pressure and she's in tears by the time she leaves the table, torn up like a marked card because she can't keep up.

I say to her: "It's not your fault, you're new, don't worry about it you'll get better... ...listen, they're just a bunch of sad fuckers, they're losing and they're losers so they take it out on you

I say to her: because you're new." It doesn't make her feel any better, I can tell. She can't do it -can't deal -doesn't want to deal but she's there anyway. (Insert terrible lion and thrown Christian metaphor here.)

Now she might stay; she might say, "Fuck you," and deal anyway or she might never come back after tonight. I stayed.

I turned around and I went back again and again even though at times I feel like the last cigarette in the ashtray that someone forgot to put out properly, burning down to the filter, until I get to the point where I'm burning out completely. Wait and see, that's all you can do, I suppose.

Copyright © Joe Hakim 2005

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