Quitting the Game
by Chris Hugh
by Chris Hugh
I was quitting the game. After all the years I'd played it for them, I was finally getting out, leaving it, the booze, the bimbos, the smoky too-bright rooms smelling of desire and desperation.
I took a practice swing with my Louisville Slugger, then tossed it aside. This time tomorrow I'd be on a beach in Mexico. No one would find me. I was leaving everything behind me but the money.
I looked at the deadbeat gambler groveling on the floor. "Let him up, boys." He'd pissed himself. I laughed. "I'm retiring tonight, buddy. You get to keep your kneecaps."
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