Existential Nostalgia
I was well along the graveyard shift with aces in my hand.
The cards felt right. My luck was coming on.
The pot was full of mischief, and LeBeau had seen my raise.
I assumed a bluff would leave him overdrawn.
I had two minds of opinion on the thought of throwing down.
The stakes were high, but so were my reserves.
I had just as much invested in my current twist of fate
As fortune gained on previous returns.
In the end, LeBeau lost all his cash, his pocket watch, his knife.
He mostly lost a sense of self respect.
It's with little true nostalgia I recall the night he died.
A winning hand is all I recollect.
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