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There just seems to be something about a low lit bar that brings the best poker face out of me. To be around people that share the same love as I do, to bet, to win. Poker isn't all about luck. Granted, luck is a major part of it. But then it's also about skill. When to fold, when to check, when to raise...

Only, tonight, I wasn't focused. There must be something wrong with me. I was with a new group tonight; I'm sure at least one or two were pirates by their demeanor. One of them was late, and at the last second, he came hunkering in through the door. Surely was no match for my security, but he had quite the features. Broad-shouldered, hair blacker than the blackest night on the sea, eyes, like semite. I dropped my martini, and then questioned why I had reacted as such to his appearance.

I still won, but, perhaps... perhaps I'm sick.