Showing posts from February, 2012

Tunica... Existentialism and Poker

The old man stepped into the Harrahs Tunica Hotel elevator and said to the crowd "Heading to the gym."  He had 1970s running shorts, the type that barely covered anything, a polo shirt, and some white sneakers that looked like reeboks that girls used to wear in the 80s.  He said "At my age you can either exercise or die."

The group of portly, sedentary, but relatively youthful poker players on the elevator nodded in unison.  I think one tried to stifle some flatulence, which was ironic because that was the closet thing he'd get to exercise on that day.  Though it was a kind gesture because the elevator was crowded.  From the machinations in his face as it contorted a little too much I knew he was squeezing some muscles he rarely used or maybe just rehashing the Black Eyed Peas Superbowl show from last year.  I turned my attention from the look, and stared downward, praying the kid had the butt kegels to hold in the fart. I couldn't help but take in all of …