2025-03-04 08:13:12The morning sun filtered through the thin, dusty curtains of Bill’s apartment, casting a pale golden hue over the sparse furniture. Bill sat at his small kitchen table, a cup of black coffee steaming in front of him. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, a rhythmic, almost mechanical motion. His mind, however, was elsewhere, already calculating, already strategizing. Tonight was the night. The casino. The gamble. The thrill.
Bill’s life was a carefully constructed routine. By day, he was unremarkable, a man who lived alone, who kept to himself, who blended into the background of the city’s ceaseless hum. But by night, he transformed. The black suit, the red tie, the black gloves, they were his armour, his identity. He wasn’t just Bill anymore. He was the gambler, the man who walked into the casino with a quiet confidence that made even the dealers pause. The day passed slowly, as it always did when he was waiting for nightfall. He cleaned his apartment, polished his shoes, and rehearsed his strategies in his mind. --- The neon lights of the casino flickered like a siren’s call as Bill stepped out of the cab. He adjusted his tie, the red silk catching the light, and slipped on his black gloves. The doorman nodded as he entered, the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and desperation wrapping around him like an old friend. He moved through the crowd with ease, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the table in the corner. The dealer, a sharp-eyed woman with a poker face, gave him a slight nod. His opponent was already there. The man’s name was Victor. He was a regular, like Bill, but where Bill was calm and calculated, Victor was brash and unpredictable. He had a reputation for winning big and losing bigger, but tonight, he seemed focused. His eyes locked onto Bill’s as he approached the table, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bill,” Victor said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Ready to lose?” Bill didn’t respond. He simply took his seat, his gloved hands resting on the table. The dealer placed a stack of blank cards and two pens in front of them. “Gentlemen,” she began, her voice cool and professional, “Its a revised form of rock, paper, scissors and the rules are simple. Each round, you will draw either rock, paper, or scissors on your card. Once both cards are revealed, the winner will be determined by the standard rules: rock beats, scissors, scissors beat paper, and paper beats rock. The first to win three rounds takes the pot. Any questions?” Both men shook their heads. The dealer stepped back, and the game began. --- The first round was a test. Bill drew his symbol quickly, his pen gliding across the card with precision. Victor did the same, his movements sharp and deliberate. The dealer counted down. “Three… two… one… reveal.” Bill had drawn rock. Victor had drawn scissors. The crowd that had gathered around the table let out a collective murmur. Bill allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. One point to him. Victor’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Lucky start,” he said, his voice tight. “Let’s see how long that lasts.” The second round was slower. Bill watched Victor closely, trying to read his movements, his expressions. But Victor was good, he gave nothing away. When the cards were revealed, Bill had drawn paper. Victor had drawn rock. Another point to Bill. The tension in the air was palpable. Victor’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Two to zero,” he said, his voice low. “You’re not as good as you think you are, Bill. I’m just warming up.” Bill remained silent, his expression unreadable. He could feel the weight of the crowd’s gaze, the pressure building with each passing second. But he thrived under pressure. It was where he was most alive. The third round began. This time, Victor hesitated, his pen hovering over the card. Bill could see the gears turning in his mind, the calculations, the second-guessing. When the cards were revealed, Bill had drawn scissors. Victor had drawn paper. The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps. Three to zero. Bill had won. But Victor wasn’t done. “Best of five,” he said, his voice shaking with barely contained anger. “Double or nothing.” Bill considered for a moment, then nodded. The dealer reset the cards, and the game continued. The fourth round was a blur. Both men drew quickly, their movements almost frantic. When the cards were revealed, Victor had drawn rock. Bill had drawn scissors. Victor’s first win. He let out a triumphant laugh, but Bill remained calm. He had expected this. Victor was desperate now, and desperation made people reckless. The fifth round was the most intense. The crowd was silent, their breaths held as the two men drew their symbols. Bill’s hand moved slowly, deliberately. He could feel Victor’s eyes on him, trying to read his movements, but Bill gave nothing away. When the cards were revealed, Bill had drawn paper. Victor had drawn rock. The crowd erupted once more, but this time, it was deafening. Bill had won. Four to one. Victor slammed his fist on the table, his face red with anger and humiliation. But Bill simply stood, adjusted his tie, and collected his winnings. As he walked away from the table, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Another night, another victory. The gambler had won again. Victor sat slumped in his chair, his face a mask of defeat. The dealer began to clear the table, her expression unreadable. The crowd slowly dispersed, their whispers filling the air like the rustle of leaves in a storm. Bill stepped out into the cool night air, the neon lights of the casino casting long shadows on the pavement. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. For a moment, he allowed himself to savour the victory, the thrill of the gamble still coursing through his veins. But even as he stood there, the city humming around him, he knew that this was just another night in the endless cycle of his life. The gambler had won again, but the game was far from over. And somewhere, in the depths of the city, another opponent was waiting. Another challenge. Another gamble. Bill took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the darkness. He was ready. The gambler always was.
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