I went out on the town and hung my toes over the edge, looking down at the funny way they move through the streets. Always crawling, always moving, always taking me where i don't want to go, but i go none the less. Of course. What else would i be doing?
This time they took me to the streets where wild things happen and lead me by the ear to a monastery on the east side. There i met a man so old, and while he made a graceful passing through his years, there was only the shriek of a car alarm whenever his lips did part. He poured me some tea and asked me my name. Before i could explain myself he split my lip with his right fist wrapped around a hokey piece of broken pottery i bought off the interstate. And then i was in a fight with a brother not my own, but close.
He said, " Put your dukes up," and i, through my palms on the table, was able to cover that bet.
My hands in the pile of chipped wealth, he laid down his arms: Aces over Eights.
He looks to me and knows what i've got, because only a crazy little shit like me would ever wager their money makers on 6's and 7's.

I severed my connection to my connections to the world and walked to the door.
It said pull. I laughed.